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A Little Girl in Old Quebec 


THE “LITTLE GIRL” SERIES 

^ ^ ^ 

' A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK 
' HANNAH ANN ; A SEQUEL 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD BOSTON 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD PHILADELPHIA 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD DETROIT 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD ST. LOUIS/. 

A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD CHICAGO 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD SAN FRANCISCO 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


A LITTLE GIRL IN 
OLD Q_UEBEC 


BY J 


AMANDA M. DOUGLAS 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
1906 



LIBRARY Of CONGRESS 
TtM CopiM RKOived 

SEP 21 1906 



CLASf No. 


Copyright, 1906 
By Dodd, Mead & Company 
Ail rights reserved 


Published September, 1906 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I A Wild Rose . . , 

# 

• 

• 

• 

PAOE 

I 

11 

The Joy of Friendship 

• 

• 

• 

• 

i8 

III 

Summer Time , . , , 





34 

IV 

A Husband .... 





53 

V 

Changing About 

• 

• 

• 

• 

71 

VI 

Finding Amusements 

• 

• 

• 

• 

90 

VII 

Journeying to a Far Country 

• 


• 

• 

107 

VIII 

What Rose Did Not Like , 

• 

• 

• 

♦ 

121 

IX 

About Marriages , 

• 

• 

• 

• 

139 

X 

Miladi and M. Destournier 

• 

• 

• 

• 

154 

XI 

A Feast of Summer 

• 

• 

• 

• 

173 

XII 

A Lover in Earnest 

• 

• 

• 

• 

192 

XIII 

From a Girl’s Heart . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

210 

XIV 

A Way over Thorns . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

231 

XV 

Held in an Enemy's Grasp . 

» 

• 

. . 

• 

249 

XVI 

A Lover of the Wilderness 

• 

• 

• 

• 

270 

XVII 

The Passing of Old Quebec 

• 

• 

• 

• 

289 


CHAPTER I 


A WILD ROSE 

Ralph Destournier went gayly along, whistling sl 
merry French song that was nearly all chorus, climbing, 
slipping, springing, wondering in his heart as many a 
man did then what had induced Samuel de Champlain 
to dream out a city on this craggy, rocky spot. Yet 
its wildness had an impressive grandeur. Above the 
island of Orleans the channel narrowed, and there were 
the lovely green heights of what was to be Point Levis, 
more attractive, he thought, than these frowning cliffs. 
The angle between the St. Charles and St. Lawrence 
gave an impregnable site for a fortress, and Champlain 
was a born soldier with a quick eye to seize on the pos- 
sibility of defence. 

On the space between the cliffs and the water a few 
wooden buildings, rough hewn, marked the site of the 
lower town. A wall had been erected, finished with a 
gallery, loopholed for musketry, and within this were 
the beginnings of a town that was to be famous for 
heroic deeds, for men of high courage, for quaintness 
that perpetuates old stories which are perfect romances 
yet to-day after the lapse of three centuries. 

There was a storehouse quite well fortified, there 


2 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


was a courtyard with some fine walnut trees, and a 
few gardens stretching out with pleasanj greenery, 
while doves were flying about in wide circles, a 
reminder of home. Ralph Destournier had a spirit of 
adventure and Champlain was a great hero to him. 
Coming partly of Huguenot stock he had fewer chances 
at home, and he believed there was more liberty in the 
new world, a better outlook for a restless, eager mind. 

He went on climbing over the sun-baked cliffs, 
while here and there in a depression where rain could 
linger there were patches of verdure, trees that some- 
how maintained a footing. How unlike the level old 
seaport town where he had passed a good part of his 
youth, considered his grandfather’s heir, when in the 
turn of fortune’s wheel the sturdy old Huguenot had 
been killed in battle and his estates confiscated. 

Something stirred up above him, not any small ani- 
mal either. It crackled the bushes and moved about 
with a certain agility. Could it be a deer? He raised 
his gun. 

Then a burst of song held him in amaze. It was 
not a bird, though it seemed to mock several of them. 
There were no especial words or rhymes, but the music 
thrilled him. He strode upward. Out of a leafy bower 
peered a face, child or woman, he could not tell at first, 
a crown of light, loose curling hair and two dark, soft 
merry eyes, a cherry-red mouth and dimpled chin. 

‘‘Hello ! How did you get up there ?” he asked in his 
astonishment. Indians sometimes lurked about. 


A WILD ROSE 


3 


climbed. You did not suppose I flew?’" 

The tone was merry rather than saucy, and taking 
a few steps nearer, he saw she was quite a child. But 
she wore no cap and she shook the wind-blown hair 
aside with a dainty gesture. There was a fearlessness 
about her that charmed him. 

“And you live — here ?” 

“Not here in the woods — no. But down in the town. 
Down there by the garden, M'sieu Hebert and the 
General. And Maman has one. But I hate working in 
it. So I ran away. Do you know what will happen to 
me when I go back ?” 

“No, what with a sense of amusement. “Perhaps 
you will get no supper 

“I shall be whipped. And to-morrow I shall not 
be let out of the garden. When I get to be a woman I 
won’t work in the garden. I won’t even have a hus- 
band. They make you do just as they like. Why isn’t 
one’s way as good as another’s ?” 

A line of perplexity settled between her eyes that 
were soft enough to melt the heart of a stone, he 
thought, if stones really had hearts. 

“Older people are generally wiser. And moth- 
ers ” 

“Oh, she isn’t my mother,” interrupted the child. 
“Even Catherine was not my mother. I was very 
sorry for that. She was good and tender, but she died. 
And Jean was very angry because she was not my real 
mother, and he would have nothing to do with me. So 


4 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


be brought me to Maman. Oh, it was' a long while ago. 
Maman is good in some ways. She gives me plenty to 
eat when we have it and she does not beat me often, 
as she does Pani.” 

^'And who is Pani 

‘^Oh, the little slave. His tribe was driven away after 
they had lost their battle, but some of the children were 
left behind and they are slaves. Do you suppose the 
Indians will ever conquer M. de Champlain ? Then we 
should be slaves — or killed.^^ 

He shuddered. Already he had heard tales of awful 
cruelty in the treatment of prisoners. 

“Are you not afraid some Indians may be prowling 
about?” and he glanced furtively around. 

“Oh, they do not come here. They are good friends 
with M. de Champlain. And the fort is guarded. I 
should hide if one came.” 

She began to descend and presently reached his level. 

“There are long shadows. It gets to be supper time.” 

He smiled. “Are the shadows your clock hands ?” 

“We have no clock. M. de Champlain carries his in 
his pocket. But you see the sun sends long shadows 
over to the east. It is queer. The sun keeps going 
round. What is on the other side?” 

“It would take a good deal of study to understand it 
all,” he returned gravely. 

“I like to hear them talk. There are wonderful 
places. And where is India ? Can any one find the pas- 
sage they are looking for and sail round the world ?” 


A WILD ROSE 


5 


‘They have sailed round it.” 

“And have you seen Paris and the King?” 

“I fought for the dead King. And Paris — why, you 
cannot imagine anything like it.” 

“Ah, but we are going to have new France here. 
And perhaps Paris.” 

There were pride and gladness in her voice. He 
smiled inwardly, he would not disturb her childish 
dream. Would she ever see the beautiful city and the 
pageants that were almost daily occurrences ? 

“When did you come here ?” she asked presently. 

“A fortnight ago, when the storeship arrived.” 

“Ah, yes. Maman and I went to see it and M. Hebert 
sent us some curious, delicious dried fruits. M. de 
Champlain is quite sure we shall grow them in time and 
have beautiful gardens, and fine people who know many 
things. Can you read?” 

“Why, yes” — laughing. 

“I wish I could. But we have no books. Maman 
thinks it a waste of time, except for the men who must 
do business and write letters. Can you write letters ?” 

“Yes” — studying her with amusement. 

“Catherine could read. But she had no books. I 
once learned some of the letters. Jean could make fig- 
ures.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Oh, off with the fur-hunters. And Antoine makes 
ever so much money. And he says he and Maman will 
go back to France. And I suppose they will leave me 


6 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


here. Antoine has two brothers and one is at Brouage, 
where M. de Champlain was born.” 

She leaped from point to point in a graceful, agile 
manner, ran swiftly down some declivity, while he held 
his breath, it seemed so fraught with danger, but she 
only looked back laughingly. What a daring midget 
she was! 

And when they were in sight of the palisades they 
saw a group of men, Pontgrave and Champlain among 
them. Destournier quickened his pace and touched his 
hat to them with a reverent grace. 

'^Have you had a guide?” and Champlain held out 
his hand to the little girl while he asked the question of 
Destournier. She took Champlain’s hand in both of 
hers and pressed it against her cheek. Pontgrave 
smiled at her as well. 

Destournier glanced up at the eminence where he had 
first seen the moving figure. How steep and unap- 
'proachable ! 

“Could you find no fairer site for a new Paris?” he 
inquired smilingly. “How will you get up and down 
the streets when you come to that ?” 

“Is it not the key to the north and a natural fortress ? 
Look you, with a cannon at its base and over opposite, 
no trading vessel could steal up, no hostile man-of-war 
invade us. There will come a time when the old world 
will divide this mighty continent between them and the 
struggle will be tremendous. It will behoove France to 
see that her entrances are well guarded. And from 


A WILD ROSE 


7 


this point we must build. What could be a fairer, 
prouder, more invincible heritage for France? For we 
shall sweep across the continent, we shall have the 
whole of the fur trade in time. We shall build great 
cities,” and Champlain’s face glowed with the pride he 
took in the new world. 

Yet it was a small beginning, and a less intrepid soul 
would have been daunted by the many discouragements 
A few dwelling houses, a moat with a drawbridge, and 
the space of land running down to the river divided 
into gardens. The Sieur de Champlain found time to 
sow various seeds, wheat and rye as well, to set out 
berries brought from the woods and native grape vines 
that were better fitted to withstand the rigorous cli- 
mate. But now it was simply magnificent, glowing 
with the early autumn suns. 

'T have a good neighbor who takes a great interest 
in these things. You must inspect Mere Dubray’s gar- 
den. With a dozen emigrants like her we should have 
the wilderness abloom. She rivals Hebert. We must 
have some agriculture. We cannot depend on the 
mother country for all our food. And if the Indians 
can raise corn and other needful supplies, why not 
we ?” 

“Ah, ha ! little truant !” cried Mere Dubray, with a 
sharp glance at the child, “where hast thou been 
all the afternoon, while weeds have been growing 
apace ?” 

“She has been playing guide to a stranger,” ex- 


8 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


plained Destournier, “and I have found her most inter- 
esting. It has been time well spent.’’ 

Mere Dubray smiled. She always felt honored by 
the encomiums of M. de Champlain. She was proud of 
her garden, as well, and pleased to have visitors inspect 
it. Indeed the young man thought he had seen no 
neater gardens in sunny France. 

“Mere Dubray,” he said, “convert this young man 
into an emigrant. I am a little sorry to have him begin 
in the autumn when the summer is so much more entic- 
ing. But if the worst is taken first there is hope for 
better to cheer the heart.” 

Something about her brought to mind the women of 
old France who sturdily fought their way to a certain 
prosperity. She was rather short and stout, but with 
no loosely-hanging flesh, her hair was still coal-black, 
with a sharp sort of waviness, and her eyes had the 
sparkle of beads. Her brown skin was relieved by a 
warm color in the cheeks and the red, rather smiling 
lips. No one could imagine the child hers. It was 
nothing to him, yet he felt rather glad. 

Destournier was very friendly, however, and found 
her really intelligent. The little g^rl ran hither and 
thither, quite a privileged character. There were very 
few children beyond the Indians and half-breeds. The 
fur-hunters often went through a sort of ceremony with 
the Indian girls during their weeks of dickering with 
the traders. Some returned another season to renew 
their vows, others sought new loves. 


A WILD ROSE 


9 


“I suppose the child has some sort of story he 
said to Champlain as they sat in the evening smoking 
their pipes. 

“The child? The reputed mother came over with 
some emigrants sent by the King, and as a widow 
she married Jean Arlac. He, it seems, was much disap- 
pointed at not having children of his own and was not 
over-cordial to the little girl. Rather more than a year 
ago his wife was taken ill, she had never been robust. 
And in her last moments she confessed the child was 
not her own, but that of a friend, and before she told the 
whole story a convulsion seized her. Jean was very 
angry and declared the child was nothing to him. He 
brought it to Mere Dubray and then went off to the fur 
regions, from whence the tidings came that he had mar- 
ried an Indian woman and taken a post station. She 
is a bright little thing, and I think must have come of 
gentle people. Her only trinket is a chain and locket, 
with a sweet young face in it.’^ 

“But there is no chance here for any sort of educa- 
tion. She seems naturally intelligent.” 

“There will be soon. There is a plan to bring out 
some nuns, and we shall build a chapel. We cannot 
do everything at once. The mother country cannot be 
roused to the importance of this step. It is not simply 
to discover, one must hold with a secure hand. And we 
must make homes, we must people them.” 

Pontgrave was to return to France. Ralph Des- 
tournier had half a mind to accompany him, but he was 


10 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


young and adventurous and desirous of seeing more of 
this strange country. At last he cast in his lot with 
them for the year at least. 

October was a gorgeous month with its changing 
colors, its rather sharp nights when the log fires were a 
delight, and its days of sunshine that brought a summer 
warmth at noon. At night the sky sparkled with stars. 

The buildings were calked on the outside and hung 
with furs within. Harsh winds swept down from the 
northwest, everything was hooded with snow. Now 
one counted stores carefully and wasted nothing, 
though Champlain’s ever sympathetic heart dealt out 
a little from his not too abundant supplies to the wan- 
dering Montagnais and gave their women and children 
food and shelter. There was a continual fight to keep 
even tolerably well. Scurvy was one enemy, a low sort 
of fever another. 

There were many plans to make for the opening of 
spring. Yet Ralph Destournier would have found it in- 
tolerably dull but for the little girl whose name was 
Rose. He taught her to read — Champlain fortunately 
had some books in French and Latin. There were bits 
of old history, a volume of Terence, another of Virgil, 
and out of what he knew and read he reconstructed 
stories that charmed her. Most of all she liked to hear 
about the King. The romances of Henry of Navarre 
fired her rapidly-awakening imagination. 

Destournier took several little excursions with the 
intrepid explorer before the severest of the winter set 


A WILD ROSE 


II 


in. What faith he had in this wonderful new France 
that was to add so much glory and prosperity to the 
old world ! If its rulers could have but looked through 
his eyes and had his aims. There was Tadoussac, there 
was the upper St. Charles, where Jacques Cartier and 
his men had passed a winter that in spite of the utmost 
heroism had ended in the tragedy of death. To the 
south there was a sturdy band of Englishmen trying the 
same experiment, not merely for their King and coun- 
try, but also some reward for themselves. Neither were 
they eager to plant the standard of religion; that was 
left for Puritan: and French missionaries. 

It seemed to Destournier that the scheme of coloniza- 
tion was hardly worth while. He had not Champlain’s 
enthusiasm — there was much to do for France, and that 
land had always to be on the defensive with England. 
Would it not be so here in the years to come ? And the 
Indians would be a continual menace. 

But there was a whole continent to convert, to civi- 
lize. He went back to the times of Charlemagne and 
the struggles that had brought out a glorious France. 
And no one had given up the passage to India. Lying 
westward was a great river, and what was beyond that 
no one knew. It was the province of man to find out. 

It was a dull life for a little girl in the winter. Rose 
almost longed for the garden, even if weeds did grow 
apace. In the old country Mere Dubray had spun flax 
and wool, here there was none to spin. She had learned 
a little work from the Indian women, but she was 


12 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


severely plain. What need of fringes and bead work 
and laying feathers in rows to be stitched on with a 
sort of thread made of fine, tough grass ? And as for 
cooking, one had to be economical and make everything 
with a view to real sustenance, not the high art of cook- 
ing, though her peasant life had inducted her into this. 

The little girl made a playhouse in one corner of 
the cabin and stood up sticks for Indian children to 
whom she told over what had been taught her. They 
blundered just as she had done, but she had a curious 
patience with them that would have touched one’s heart. 

“What nonsense!” Mere Dubray would exclaim. 
“It is well enough for men, and priests must know 
Latin prayers, but this is beyond anything a woman 
needs. And to be repeating it to sticks ” 

“But I get so lonely when they are all away,” and 
the child sighed. “The real Indian girls were a pleas- 
ure, but Fm afraid you could not teach them to read 
any more than these make-believes.” 

“Yes, winter is a dreary time. I’m not sure but I 
would rather be up in the fur country with my man. 
It seems they find plenty of game.” 

There was not so much game here, for the Indians 
were ever on the alert and the roving bands always on 
the verge of starvation. But once in a while there was 
a feast of fresh meat and Mere Dubray made tasty 
messes for the hungry men. 

Rose, bundled up in furs sometimes, ran around the 
gallery where they had cleared the snow. Then there 


A WILD ROSE 


13 


were the forge and the workshop, where the men were 
hewing immense walnut trees into slabs and posts for 
spring building. Some days the doves were let out of 
the cote in the sunshine and it was fascinating to see 
them circle around. They knew the little girl and 
would alight on her shoulder and eat grains out of her 
hand, coo to her and kiss her. Destournier loved to 
watch her, a real child of nature, innocent as the doves 
themselves. Mere Dubray had scarcely more idea of 
the seriousness of life or the demands of another exist- 
ence beyond. She told her beads, prayed to her patron 
saint with small idea of what heaven might be like, 
unless it was the beautiful little hamlet where she was 
born. And as she was not sure the child had been 
christened, she thought it best to wait for the advent 
of a priest to direct her in the right way. 

She was not a little horrified by Destournier’s curious 
familiarity with God and heaven, as it seemed to her. 
Rose understood almost intuitively that it terrified her, 
that it seemed a sacrilege, though she would not have 
known what the word meant. So she said very little 
about it — it was a beautiful land beyond the sky where 
people went when they died. Sometimes, when the 
wonderful beauty of sunset moved her to a strange 
ecstasy, she longed to be transported thither. And in 
the moving white drifts she saw angel forms with out- 
stretched arms and called to them. 

The beginning of the new year was bitter indeed. 
Snow piled mountain high, it seemed a whole world 


14 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


of snow. For windows they had cloth soaked in oil, 
but now the curtains of fur were dropped within and 
a barricade raised without. There were only the blaz- 
ing logs to give light and make shadows about. They 
hovered around it, ate nuts, parched corn, and heated 
their smoked eels. They slept late in the morning and 
went to bed early. The lack of exercise and vegetables 
told on health, and towards spring more than one of the 
little band went their way to the land beyond and left 
a painful vacancy. But one week there came a marvel- 
lous change. The mountains of snow sank down into 
hills, there was a rush in the river, the barricades were 
removed from the windows and the fur hangings 
pushed aside to let in some welcome light. 

Rose ran around wild. 'T can recall last spring,” 
she said, with a burst of gayety. “The trees coming out 
in leaf, the birds singing, the blossoms ” 

“And the garden,” interposed Destournier. 

Rose made a wry face. 

“It will be an excellent thing for you to run about 
out of doors. You have lost your rosy cheeks.” 

“But I am Rose still,” she said archly. 

She ran gayly one day, she went up the stream in the 
canoe with Destournier and was full of merriment. 
But the next day she felt strangely languid. Most of 
the men had gone hunting. Mere Dubray was piling 
away some of the heaviest furs. 

“Thou wilt roast there in the chimney corner,” she 
said rather sharply. “Get thee out of doors in the fresh 


A WILD ROSE 


15 


air again. It is silly to think one cannot stir without a 
troop of men tagging to one. Thou art too young for 
such folly.” 

^‘My legs ache,” returned the child, ^^and my head 
feels queer and goes round when I stir. And I am 
sleepy, as if there had not been any night.” 

Mere Dubray glanced at her sharply. 

‘‘Why, thy cheeks are red and thy eyes bright. 
Come, stir about or I shall take a stick to thee. That 
will liven thee up.” 

The child rose and made a few uncertain steps. 
Then she flung out her hands wildly, and the next 
instant fell in a little heap on the floor. 

The elder looked at her in amaze and shook her 
rather roughly by the arm. And now the redness was 
gone and the child had a strange gray look, with her 
eyes rolled up so that only a little of the pupil showed. 

“Saint Elizabeth have mercy!” she cried. “The 
child is truly ill. And she has been so well and strong. 
And the doctor gone up to Tadoussac !” 

She laid her on the rude couch. Rose began to mut- 
ter and then broke into a pitiful whine. There were 
some herbs that every householder gathered, there 
were secrets extorted from the squaws much more effi- 
cacious than those of their medicine men. The little 
hand was burning hot; yes, it was fever. There had 
been scurvy and dysentery, but she was a little non- 
plussed by the fever. And the Sieur would not be 
here until to-morrow ; the doctor, no one knew when. 


i6 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

She took out her chest of simples, a quaintly-made 
birchen-bark receptacle. They had been carefully 
labelled by the doctor. Yes, here was "‘fever” — here 
another. Which to take puzzled her. 

“I might try first one and then the other,” she rumi- 
nated. “I would get the good of both. And they might 
not mix well.” 

She boiled some water and poured it over the herbs. 
It diffused a bitter, but not unpleasant flavor. Then 
she put it out of doors to cool. 

Rose was sleeping heavily, but her eyes were half 
open and it startled Mere Dubray. 

“A child is a great responsibility,” she moaned to 
herself. “If the Sieur were only here, or the doctor !” 
She woke her presently and administered the potion. 
But it brought on a desperate sickness. 

“Perhaps I had better try the other.” She took the 
hot, limp hand, the cheeks were burning, but great 
drops of perspiration stood out on the forehead. She 
twisted the soft hair in a knot and struck one of her 
highly-prized pins through it, then she thought a night- 
cap would be better. Only they would be a world too 
large for the child. But she succeeded in pinning it 
to the right shape, though she grudged the two pins. 
They were a great rarity in those days, and if one was 
lost hours were spent hunting it up. 

The second dose fared better. There was nothing 
to do but let the child sleep. She busied herself about 
the few household cares, studied the weather and the 


A WILD ROSE 


17 


signs of spring. Oh, was that a bird ! Surely he was 
early with his song. The river went rushing on joyous- 
ly, leaping, foaming as if glad to be unchained. The 
air had softened marvellously. Ah, why should one be 
ill when spring had come ! 

The kindly Mere repeated her dose. Towards night 
the fever seemed to abate, but the child was desperately 
restless and the worthy woman much troubled. Yet 
what was the child to her ? to any one ? And death was 
sure to come sometime. She would be spared much 
trouble. She would also lose much happiness. But 
was there any great share of it in this new world? 

Rose was no better the next day. The nausea re- 
turned and clearly she was out of her head. But late 
this afternoon the Sieur and the young guest returned 
and were so much alarmed they dispatched an Indian 
servitor with instructions to bring the doctor at once. 

“A pretty severe case,” he said, with a grave shake of 
the head. “You have done the best you could. Mere 
Dubray, and children have wonderful recuperative 
powers. So we will try.” 

“Poor, pretty little thing,” thought Destournier. 
“Will she find anything 'worth living for?” Women 
had so few opportunities in those times. And when one 
was poor and unknown, and in a strange country. Yet 
he could not bear to think of her dying. There was 
always a hopeful future to living. 


CHAPTER II 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 

She went down to the very boundaries of the other 
country, this little Rose. One night and one day they 
gave her up. She lay white and silent and Mere 
Dubray brought out a white muslin dress and ironed it 
up, much troubled to know whether she had a right to 
Christian burial or not. 

And then she opened her eyes with their olden light 
and began to ask in a weak voice what happened to her 
yesterday, and found her last remembrance was six 
weeks agone. 

She could hardly raise her thin little hand, but all 
the air was sweet with growing things. The tall trees 
had come into rich leafage, the sunshine glowed upon 
the grass that danced as if each blade was fairy-born, 
and sparkled on the river that went hurrying by as if 
to tell a wonderful story. The great craggy upper 
town glinted in a thousand varying tints, and at even- 
ing was wreathed in trailing mists that seemed some 
strange army marching across. The thickly wooded 
hills were nodding and smiling to each other, some 
native fruit trees were in bloom, and the air was deli- 
cious with the scent of wild-grape fragrance. 

i8 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


19 


‘‘It was a bad fever. And we had no priest to call 
upon. As if people here did not need one as well as in 
that wild place with a long name where they are hunt- 
ing copper and maybe gold. But thanks to the saints 
and the good doctor, you have come through. Ah, we 
ought to have a chapel at least where one could go 
and pray.’^ 

“It is so beautiful and sweet. One would not want 
to be put in the ground.’’ 

She shuddered thinking of it. 

“No, no ! And M. Pontgrave has come in with two 
ships. There is plenty of provisions and fruits from 
La Belle France. See, M’sieu Ralph brought them in 
for you. Now you have only to get well.” 

Mere Dubray’s face was alight with joy. The child 
smiled faintly. 

“And the Sieur de Champlain ?” she asked. 

“Oh, he is as busy as any two men with plans for 
building up the town, and workmen, and some women 
for wives — two of whom are married already, though 
one couple did their courting on shipboard. Oh, you 
must soon get about. We are going to have a rare 
summer.” 

The child raised herself up a trifle and then sank 
back. 

“Oh, dear I” with a little cry. 

“Do not mind, ma petite. People are always so at 
first. To-morrow maybe you can sit up, and a few days 
after walk. And then go out.” 


20 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

“The world is so lovely and sweet,” she murmured. 
And she was glad she had not died. 

The next day M’sieu Ralph came in. He appeared 
changed some way, but the old smile was there. The 
eyes seemed to have taken on a deeper blue tint. She 
stretched out her hands. 

“Thank the good God that you are restored, little 
one,” he exclaimed, with deep fervor. “Only you are 
a shadow of the Rose who climbed rocks like a joyous 
kid less than a year agone. When will you pilot me 
again ?” 

She drew a long breath like a sigh. 

“And there have been so many happenings. There 
are new people, though no little girls among them, for 
which I am sorry. And already they are building 
houses. The Sieur de Champlain has great plans. He 
will have a fine city if they work. Why, when thou art 
an old lady and goest dressed in silks and velvets and 
furs, as the women of the mother country, thou wilt 
have rare stories to tell to thy grandchildren. And no 
doubt thou wilt have seen Paris as well.” 

Then she smiled, but it was a pitiful attempt. 

It was true Quebec had received a wonderful has- 
tening in the new-comers and in several grants the 
King had made concerning the fur trade. The dreary 
winter was a thing of the past. 

Destournier came in the next day and insisted the 
child should be wrapped up and carried out in the sun- 
shine. She seemed light as a baby when he took her 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


21 


in his arms. He seated himself on a bench and held 
her closely wound up in Mere’s choicest blanket she 
had brought from St. Malo, and which had been woven 
by her grandmother. 

Ah, how lovely that savage primeval beauty looked 
to the child, who felt more than she could understand. 
Every pulse seemed instinct with new life. The gar- 
dens with their beds of vegetables, the tall slim spikes 
of onions which everybody had been requested to plant 
plentifully, the feathery leaves of the young carrots, the 
beans already in white bloom, the sword-like leaves of 
the corn hardly long enough to wave as yet, and the 
river with boats and canoes — why, it had never been so 
brisk and wonderful before. 

She drew in long breaths of health-giving fragrance. 
There had been some trouble with the Indians and the 
Sieur de Champlain had gone to chastise them. There 
were fur-traders on the way and soon everything would 
be stirring with eager business. And when she could 
they would take a sail around and up the St. Charles, 
and visit the islands, for besides Pani the Mere had 
another Indian boy the Sieur had sent her, so there 
would be no gardening for the small, white Rose. And 
he had made a new friend for her, who was waiting 
anxiously to see her. 

Presently she went soundly asleep in the fragrant 
air, and he carried her back and laid her on the bed. 
Mere Dubray came and looked at her and shook her 
head. She was indeed a white Rose now. They had 


22 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


cut her hair when she had tangled it with her tossing 
about, and it was now a bed of golden rings, but the 
long lashes that were like a fringe on her cheeks were 
black. 

‘Tt will take her a good while to get back all she has 
lost,” said the young man. ‘Tt is little short of a mira- 
cle that she is here.” 

She gained a little every day. But she felt very 
shaky when she walked about, and light in the head. 
And then Destournier brought her a visitor one after- 
noon, a lady the like of whom the child had not dreamed 
of in her wildest imaginings, as she had listened to tales 
of royalty. A tall, fair woman whose bright hair was 
a mass of puffs and short dainty curls held by combs 
that sparkled with jewels, and the silken gown that was 
strewn with brocaded roses on a soft gray ground. 
It had dainty ruffles around the bottom that barely 
reached her ankles, and showed the clocked and em- 
broidered stockings and elegant slippers laced back and 
forth with golden cord, and a buckle that sparkled with 
gems like the combs. Even royalty condescended to 
wear imitation jewels, so why should not the lower 
round? Her shapely shoulders were half veiled by a 
gauze scarf on which were woven exquisite flowers. 

The child gazed with fascinated admiration. Did 
the Greek women Destournier had read about, who 
won every heart, look like this? 

‘‘This is the lady I told you of, little one, who has 
lately come from France, Madame Giffard. And this 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


*3 

is Rose ’’ He paused suddenly with a half smile. 

‘T believe the child has no other name.’^ 

“Was she born here?’^ How soft and winning the 
voice was. 

Destournier flushed unconsciously. 

“She has a story and a mystery that no one has 
fathomed. The Sieur made some inquiries. A woman 
of the better class who came over with some emigrants 
brought her, and was supposed to be her mother. But 
some secret lay heavy on her mind, it seemed, and when 
she was dying she confessed that the child was not hers, 
but she had no time for explanations. The husband 
brought her here and has gone to one of the fur sta- 
tions. His disappointment was so intense he gave up 
the child. And so — her name is neither Arlac nor 
Dubray. We shall have to rechristen her.” 

“What a curious romance I If one knew what town 
she came from. Oh, my little one, will you let me be 
your friend? I had a little golden-haired girl who 
died when she was but four, and no children have come 
since to gladden my heart.” 

Madame Giffard bent over and took the small hand, 
noting the taper fingers and slender wrist that seemed 
to indicate good birth. She pressed it to her lips. 
Rose looked up trustfully and smiled. 

“I like you,” she said, with frank earnestness. 

“Then I shall come to see you often. This is such a 
queer place with no ready-made houses and really noth- 
ing but log huts or those made of rough slabs. I wonder 


24 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


now how I had the courage to come. But I could not 
be separated from my dear husband. And when he 
makes his fortune we shall go back to our dearly be- 
loved France.’' 

The child smiled. The story had no embarrassment 
for her — Catherine had brought her from France and 
she had never called her mother until on shipboard. 
Back of it was vague and misty, though Catherine 
was in it all. But this beautiful woman with her soft 
voice, different from anything she had ever heard — 
why, she liked her already almost as much as M’sieu 
Ralph. 

“And you have been ill a long while ?” 

“It seemed only a day when I first woke up. Then 
the snow was on the ground. I was so cold. I wanted 
to go to sleep on the chimney seat and Mere would not 
let me. And now everything is in bloom and the gar- 
den is planted and the sun shines in very gladness. 
I shall never like winter again,” and she shuddered. 

“Are the winters so dreadful ?” she inquired of Des- 
tournier. 

“I never knew anything like it. I can’t understand 
why the Sieur de Champlain should want to found a 
city here when the country south is so much more con- 
genial. Although this is the key to the North, as he 
says. And there is a north to the continent over 
there.” 

“You think there are fortunes to be made ?” 

“For those who come to make them. But the mother 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


25 


country will squeeze hard. We have not found the gold 
and silver yet. But after all, trade is your best pioneer. 
And this is an era of exploring, of fame, rather than 
money-getting. We are just coming to know there are 
other sides to the world. Ah, here is Mere Dubray.’^ 
The child glanced from one woman to the other. 
She saw the same difference as there was between the 
workmen and the few of the better class. Was it 
knowledge such as M’sieu Ralph had ? And the good- 
hearted home-making Mere scouted learning for 
women. Their business was cooking and keeping the 
house. But she decided she liked the lady the best, 
just as she liked M’sieu Ralph better than the brawny 
leathern- and fur-clad workmen. But the Mere had 
been very good and never scolded her now. 

She brought in some little cakes and a glass of beer 
brewed from roots and herbs. Madame Giffard 
thanked her and sipped it delicately. Some vague 
memory haunted the child, as if she had seen this lady 
before with the dead Catherine. 

‘Tt is a wild, wild country. There is nothing like it 
in France,” the lady said, in a tone of disparagement. 

''And how one is to live ” 

"You were not in France two or three centuries ago,” 
he returned good-naturedly. "Most countries go 
through this period. Beginnings are not always 
agreeable.” 

"But I cannot admit this is a city. Yet they talk 
about it at home. The furs are certainly fine. But the 


26 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

Indians ! You are in fear of them all the time. And 
if they should make an attack here ?” 

“They will hardly dare now. Indeed one Indian 
tribe is practically wiped out. And the fortifications 
are to be strengthened. We manage to keep quite 
friendly, though we do not trust too far.” 

“But it is horrible to live in perpetual fear,” and she 
shuddered. 

“You must not look on that side of it. It is a hard 
country for women, I shall have to admit.” 

“But I have not come to stay, thank the saints. A 
year maybe at the longest. My husband is to go back 
when he has — what you call it — established his claim — 
concession. We like sunny France the best. Only 
one wants a fortuije to enjoy it.” 

“That is true, too. But here one can do without. At 
least a man can” — laughing a little as he surveyed the 
dainty figure. 

“A year,” repeated the child. “How long is a year ?” 

Mere Dubray had been standing in the doorway, 
waiting to take the cup when my lady had finished. 
Now she said in an unemotional tone — 

“It is a summer and a winter. It was last May when 
Jean Arlac brought you here.” 

The child nodded thoughtfully and there came a far- 
away expression in her eyes. 

“Jean Arlac went up to the fur country,” she said to 
the guest. 

“Does he return when the furs come in ?” 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


27 


She glanced at Mere Dubray, who shook her head. 

“He comes back no more. He has married an 
Indian woman. But my husband will be here.” 

“Does M. Giffard desire to go out himself?” 

“That is his plan, I believe. Can he get back before 
winter ?” 

“Oh, yes, or by that time.” 

“I shall come often to see the little one. And when 
they have finished the — ^the hut, the child must come 
often to me. I have brought some furnishings and 
pictures and a few books. There is much more in the 
old chateau, and my aunt is there to take care of it. 
But I wanted some old friends about me.” 

At the mention of books Rose had glanced up eagerly 
at Destournier. Then there was a sudden rush with- 
out. Both Indian boys were racing and yelling in their 
broken language. 

“They are coming; they are coming! The canoes 
are in,” and both began to caper about. 

Mere Dubray took down a leathern thong and laid it 
about them ; but they were like eels and glided out of 
her reach. 

“One was bad enough, but I could manage him. The 
other” — and she gave her shoulders a shrug. 

The lady laughed. “That is like home,” she said. 

“It is quite a sight. And I hope you will not be 
frightened, for the next few days. I had better escort 
you back, I think, for there will be a crowd.” 

They were guests of M. de Champlain, who had quite 


28 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


comfortable quarters. Beside his governmental busi- 
ness he was much engrossed with a history of his jour- 
neys and explorations and the maps he was making. 
All the furnishings were plain, as became a hardy 
soldier who often slept out in the open. But the keep- 
ing room already showed some traces of a woman’s 
love for adornment. He looked rather grim over it, 
but made no comment. 

will come again to-morrow.” Madame Giffard 
pressed a kiss upon the white forehead. The child 
grasped her hand with convulsive warmth. 

An hour had changed the aspect of everything. 
Instead of the quiet, deserted, winding ways, you could 
hardly call them streets, everything seemed alive with 
a motley, moving throng. A long line of boats, and 
what one might call a caravan, seemed to have risen 
from the very earth, or been evolved from the wilder- 
ness. There were shouting and singing, white men 
turned to brown by exposure, Indians, half-breeds of 
varying shades, and attire that was really indescribable. 

“Is it an attack?” and Madame Giffard clung to her 
guide in affright. 

He laughed reassuringly. 

“It is only the awakening of Quebec after its long 
hibernation. They have been expected some days. Ah, 
now you will see the true business side and really 
believe the town flourishing, be able to carry a good 
report back to France.” 

They looked over the land side from the eminence of 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


29 


the fortifications. Quebec did not mean to admit these 
roisterers within her precincts, which were none too 
well guarded. Still the cannons looked rather formida- 
ble from their embrasures. But as little would these 
lawless men have cared to be under the guard of the 
soldiery. 

They seemed to come to a pause. Indians and half- 
breeds threw down their packs. Some sat on them and 
gesticulated fiercely, as if on the verge of a quarrel. A 
few, who seemed the leaders, went about ordering, 
pointing to places where a few stakes had been driven. 
Great bundles were unpacked, a centre pole reared, and 
a tent was in progress. 

'‘Why, it is like a magic play,” and she clapped her 
hands in eager delight. “Will they live here? Oh, 
where is Laurent, I wonder. He ought to see this.” 

“They will live here a month or so. Some of the 
earlier ones will go away, new ones come. The com- 
pany's furs will be packed and loaded on vessels for 
France, but there are plenty of others who trade on 
their own account. There will be roistering and drink- 
ing and quarrelling and dickering, and then the tents 
will be folded and packed and the throng take up their 
march for the great north again, and months of hunt- 
ing.” 

It was fascinating to watch them. They were build- 
ing stone fireplaces outside and kindling fires. Here 
some deft hands were skinning a moose or a deer and 
placing portions on a rude spit. And there was the 


30 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


Sieur de Champlain and a dozen or so of armed sol- 
diers, he holding parley with some of the leaders. 

''Oh, there is M. Giffard,’' she cried presently. "And 
look — are there — women?” 

"Squaws. Oh, yes.” 

"Do they travel, I mean come from the fur country ? 
What a long journey it must be for them.” 

"They do not mind. They are nomads of the wilder- 
ness. You know the Indians never build towns as we 
do. Some of them settle for months until the hunting 
gives out, then they are off on a new trail.” 

"What queer people. One would think the good mis- 
sionaries would civilize them, teach them to be like — 
can they civilize them?” 

"After centuries, perhaps” — dryly. 

"Is all this country theirs?” 

"Well” — he lifted his eyebrows in a queer, humorous 
fashion. "The King of France thinks he has a right 
to what his explorers discover ; the King of England — 
well, it was Queen Elizabeth, I believe, who laid claim 
to a portion called Virginia. She died, but the English 
remain. Their colony is largely recruited from their 
prisons, I have heard. Then his Spanish majesty has 
somewhat. It is a great land. But the French set out 
to save souls and convert the heathen savages into 
Christian men. They have made friends with some of 
the tribes. But they are not like the people of Europe, 
rather they resemble the barbarians of the north. And 
the Church, you know, has labored to convert them.” 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


31 


*'How much men know !” she said, with a long sigh 
of admiration. 

The sun was dropping down behind the distant 
mountains, pine- and fir-clad. She had never looked 
upon so grand a scene and was filled with a tremulous 
sort of awe. Up there the St. Charles river, here the 
majestic St. Lawrence, islands, coves, green points run- 
ning out in the water where the reedy grass waved to 
and fro, tangles of vines and wild flowers. And here at 
their feet the settlement that had just sprung into 
existence. 

“You must be fatigued,” he said suddenly. “Pardon 
my forgetfulness. I have been so interested myself.” 

“Yes, I am a little tired. It has been such a strange 
afternoon. And that poor little girl. Monsieur — does 
that woman care well for her? She has the coarse- 
ness of a peasant, and the child not being her own ” 

“Oh, I think she is fairly good to her. We do not 
expect all the graces here in the wilderness. But I 
could wish ” 

Madame Gififard stumbled at that moment and might 
have gone over a ledge of rock, and there were many 
there, but he caught her in strong arms. 

“How clumsy!” she cried. “No, I am not hurt, 
thanks to you. I was looking over at that woman with 
something on her back that resembles a child.” 

“Yes, a papoose. That is their way of carrying 
them.” 

“Poor mother ! She must get very weary.” 


32 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


They threaded their way carefully to the citadel. 
The guard nodded and they passed. An Indian woman 
was bringing in a basket of vegetables and there was a 
savory smell of roasting meat. 

^‘Now you are safe,” he said. “The Sieur would 
have transported me to France or hung me on the 
ramparts if any evil had happened to you.” 

He gave a short laugh as if he had escaped a danger, 
but there was a gleam of mirth in his eyes. 

“A thousand thanks, M’sieu. Though I can’t think I 
was in any great danger. And another thousand for 
the sweet little girl. I must see a good deal of her.” 

The room she entered was within the double fortifi- 
cation and its windows were securely barred. The walls 
were of heavy timbers stained just enough to bring out 
the beautiful grain. But some of the dressed deerskins 
were still hanging and there were festoons of wampum, 
curiously made bead and shell curtains interspersed 
with gun racks, great moose horns and deer heads, and 
antlers. Tables and chairs curiously made and a great 
couch big enough for a bed. 

But the adjoining room was the real workroom of 
the Sieur. Here were his books, he brought a few 
more every time he came from France; shelves of 
curiosities, a wide stone fireplace, with sundry pipes 
of Indian make on the ledges. A great table occupied 
the centre of the room and all about it were strewn 
papers, — maps in every state, — plans for the city, plans 
of fortifications, diagrams of the unsuccessful settle- 


THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP 


33 


merits, and the new project of Mont Real. Notes on 
agriculture and the propagation of fruits, for none bet- 
ter than the Sieur understood that the colony must in 
some way provide its own food, that it could not depend 
upon sustenance from the mother country. For his 
ambition desired to make New France the envy of the 
nations who had tried colonizing. He ordered crops of 
wheat and rye and barley sown, and often worked in his 
own field when the moon shone with such glory that it 
inspired him. And though he had all the ardor of an 
explorer, he meant to turn the profits of trade to this 
end, but to further it settlements were necessary, and he 
bent much of his energy to the duller and more trying 
task of building colonies. Though the route to the 
Indies fired his ambition he was in real earnest to bring 
this vast multitude of heathens within the pale of the 
Church, and to do that he must be friendly with them 
as far as they could be trusted, but there were times 
when he almost lost faith. 


CHAPTER III 


SUMMER TIME 

The child sat in a dream on a rude, squarely-built 
settle with a coarse blanket on it of Indian make and 
some skins thrown over the back, for often at sundown 
the air grew cool and as yet women were not spinning 
or weaving as in old France. A few luxuries had been 
brought thither, but the mother government had a 
feeling that the colonists ought mostly to provide for 
themselves, and was often indifferent to the necessary 
demands. 

Mere Dubray went out to the kitchen and began to 
prepare supper. There was a great stone chimney 
with a bench at each side, and for a fireplace two flat 
stones that would be filled in with chunks of wood. 
When the blaze had burned them to coals the cooking 
began. Corn bread baked on both sides, sometimes 
rye or wheaten cakes, a kettle boiled, though the home- 
brewed beer was the common drink in summer, except 
among those who used the stronger potions. The teas 
were mostly fragrant herbs, thought to be good for the 
stomach and to keep the blood pure. 

Mere Dubray dressed half a dozen birds in a trice. 
It was true that in the summer they could live on the 
34 


SUMMER TIME 


35 


luxuries of the land in some respects. Fish and game 
of all kinds were abundant, and as there were but few 
ways of keeping against winter it was as well to feast 
while one could. They dried and smoked eels and some 
other fish, and salted them, but they had learned that 
too much of this diet induced scurvy. 

The birds were hung on an improvised spit, with a 
pan below to catch the drippings with which they were 
basted. Between whiles the worthy woman unexpect- 
edly bolted out to the garden with a switch in her hand 
and laid it about the two Indian boys, who did not bear 
it with the stoicism of their race, as they learned the 
greater the noise the shorter their punishment. 

The little girl did not heed the screams or the shrill 
scolding, or even the singing of the birds that grew 
deliciously tender toward nightfall. She often watched 
the waving branches as the wind blew among them 
until it seemed as if they must be alive, bending over 
caressing each other and murmuring in low tones. If 
she could only know what they said. Of course they 
must be alive ; she heard them cry piteously in winter 
when they were stripped of their covering. Why did 
God do it? Why did He send winter when summer 
was so much better, when people were merry and happy 
and could hunt and fish and wander in the woods and 
fight Indians? She had not had much of an idea of 
God hitherto only as a secret charm connected with 
Mere Dubray's beads, but now it was some great power 
living beyond the sky, just as the Indians believed. 


36 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

You could only go there by growing cold and stiff and 
being put in the ground. She shrank from that 
thought. 

Something new had come in her life now. There 
was a vague, confused idea of gods and goddesses, that 
she had gathered from the Latin verses that she no 
more understood than the language. And this must be 
one that descended upon her this afternoon. The soft, 
sweet voice still lingered in her ears, entrancing her. 
The graceful figure that was like some delicate swaying 
branch, the attire the like of which she had never even 
dreamed of. How could she indeed, when the finest 
things she had seen were the soldiers’ trappings? 

And this beautiful being had kissed her. Only once 
she remembered being kissed, but Catherine’s lips were 
so cold that for days when she thought of it she shud- 
dered and connected it with that mysterious going 
away, that horrid, underground life. This was warm 
and sweet and strange, like the nectar of flowers she 
had held to her lips. Oh, would the lovely being come 
again? But M’sieu Ralph had said so, and what he 
promised came to pass. There was a sudden ecstasy 
as if she could not wait, as if she could fly out of the 
body after her charmer. Whither was she going? Oh, 
M’sieu Ralph would know. But could she wait until 
to-morrow ? 

Into this half-delirious vision broke the strong, rather 
harsh voice that filled her for an instant with a curious 
hate so acute that if she had been large enough, strong 


SUMMER TIME 


37 

enough, she would have thrust the woman out of 
doors. 

“Oh, have you been asleep? Your eyes look wild. 
And your cheeks ! Is it the fever coming back again ? 
That chatter went through my head. And to be 
gowned as if she were going to have audience with the 
Queen ! I don’t know about such things. There is a 
King always — I suppose there must be a Queen.” 

The child had recovered herself a little and the en- 
raptured dream was slipping by. 

“And here is your supper. Such a great dish of rasp- 
berries, and some juice pressed out for wine. And the 
birds broiled to a turn. Here is a little wheaten cake. 
The Sieur sent the wheat and it is a great rarity. And 
now eat like a hungry child.” 

She raised her up and put a cushion of dried hay at 
her back. The food was on a small trencher with a 
flat bottom, and was placed on the settle beside her. 

“No, ho, the tea first,” she said, holding a birch-bark 
cup to her lips. 

Rose made a wry face, but drank it, nevertheless. 
Then she took the raspberry juice, which was much 
pleasanter. 

“Yes, a great lady, no doubt. We have few of them. 
This is no place for silken hose and dainty slippers, and 
gowns slipping off the shoulders, and my lady will soon 
find that out. I wondered at M. Destournier. The 
saints forbid that we should import these kind of 
cattle to New France.'’ 


38 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“She is very sweet” — protestingly. 

“Oh, yes. So is the flower sweet, and it drops off 
into withered leaves. And her eyes looked askance at 
M’sieu Ralph, yet she hath a husband. Come, eat of 
thy bird and bread, and to-morrow maybe thou wilt 
run about lest thy limbs stiffen up to a palsy.” 

“Mistress, mistress,” called Pani — “here is a man to 
see thee.” 

She went through both rooms. The man stood with- 
out, rather rough, unkempt, with buckskin breeches, 
fringed leggings, an Indian blanket, a grizzled beard 
hanging down on his breast, and his tousled hair well 
sprinkled with white ; his face wrinkled with the hard- 
ships he had passed through, but the gray-blue eyes 
twinkled. 

“Ha ! ha !” A coarse, but not unfriendly laugh fin- 
ished the greeting as he caught both hands in an im- 
petuous embrace. “Lalotte, old girl, has thy memory 
failed in two years ? Or hast thou gotten another hus- 
band ?” 

The woman gave a shriek of mingled surprise and 
delight. “The saints be praised, it is Antoine. And 
how if thou hast taken some Indian woman to wife? 
Braves do not consort with white women who cannot 
be made into slaves,” she answered, with spirit. 

“Lalotte, thou wert hard to win in those early days. 
But now a dozen good kisses with more flavor in them 
than Burgundy wine, and I will prove to you I am 
the same old Antoine. And then — ^but thy supper 


SUMMER TIME 


39 

smell is good to a hungry man. And a dish of shallots. 
It takes a man back to old Barbizon.’’ 

Stout and strong as was Madame Dubray, her hus- 
band almost kissed the breath out of her body in his 
rapturous embrace. 

'‘But I had no word of your coming ” 

"How could you, pardieu ! But you knew the trad- 
ers were coming in. And a man can’t send messengers 
hundreds of miles.” 

"I looked last year ” 

"Pouf ! There are men who stay five or ten years, 
and have left a wife in France. You can’t blame them 
for taking a new one when you are invited to. It is a 
wild, hard life, but not worse than a soldier’s. And 
when you are your own master the hardships are light. 
But some of this’ good supper.” 

"Out with you,” she said to the Indian boys, who had 
snatched a piece of the broiled fish. Then she put down 
a plate, took up two birds that dripped delicious gravy, 
and a squirrel browned to a turn. From the cupboard 
beside the great stone chimney, so cunningly devised 
that no one would have suspected it, she brought forth 
a bottle of wine from the old world, her last choice pos- 
session, that she had dreamed of saving for Antoine, 
and now her dream had come true. 

There was much to tell on both sides, though her life 
had been comparatively uneventful. He related inci- 
dents of his wilder experiences far away from civiliza- 
tion that he had grown to enjoy in its perfect freedom 


40 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


that often lapped over into lawlessness. And he ate 
until squirrel, fish, and the cakes, both of rye and corn, 
had disappeared. The slave boys fared ill that night. 

Rose had eaten her supper more daintily. The 
great pile of raspberries was a delight ; large, luscious ; 
melting in one’s mouth without the aid of sugar, and 
being picked up with the fingers. She had been startled 
at the sudden appearance of the husband she had heard 
talked of, but of course not seen. His loud voice grated 
on her ears, made more sensitive by illness, and when, 
a long while after, the pine torch that was flaring in 
the kitchen defined his brawny frame as he stood 
in the doorway, she wanted to scream. 

“Oh — what have you here — a ghost ?” he asked. 

“A child who was left here more than a year ago. 
Jean Arlac lost his wife, and not knowing what to do 
with her — she was not his own child — left her here. 
He went out with the fur-hunters.” 

“Jean Arlac !” Antoine scratched among his rough 
locks as if to assist his memory. “Yes. And on the 
way he picked up a likely Indian girl who has given him 
a son. And he saddled her on you ?” 

“Oh, the Sieur will look after her — perhaps take her 
back to France,” she answered, indifferently. 

“The best place for her, no doubt. She looks a frail 
reed. And women need strength in this new world. 
A little infusion of Indian blood will do no harm. I 
wouldn’t mind a son myself, but a girl — pouf !” 

The child was glad he would not want her. She 


SUMMER TIME 


41 

turned her face to the wall. She had not known what 
loneliness was before, but now she felt it through 
all her body, like a great pain. 

On the opposite side of the room was another settle, 
part of which turned over and was upheld by drawing 
out two rounds of logs. Mere Dubray made up the 
wider bed now, and soon Antoine was snoring lustily. 
At first it frightened the child, though she was used to 
the screech of the owl that spent his nights in the 
great walnut tree inside the palisade. 

Was it a dream, she wondered the next morning. She 
slept soundly at last and late and found herself alone 
in the house. She put on her simple frock and went to 
the doorway. Ah, what a splendid glowing morning 
it was ! The sunshine lay in golden masses and fairly 
gilded the green of the maize, the waving grasses, the 
bronze of the trees, and the river threw up lights and 
shadows like birds skimming about. 

No one was in the garden. The table had been 
despoiled to the last crumb. Even the cupboard had 
been ransacked and all that remained was some raw 
fish. She was not hungry and the fragrant air was 
reviving. It seemed to speed through every pulse. 
Why, she suddenly felt strong again. 

She wandered out of the enclosure and climbed the 
steps, sitting down now and then and drawing curious 
breaths that frightened her, they came so irregularly. 
There were workmen building additional fortifications 
around the post, there were houses going up. It was 


42 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


like a strange place. She reached the gallery presently 
and looked over what was sometime to be the city of 
Quebec. The long stretch was full of tents and tepees 
and throngs of men of every description, it would 
seem; Indians, swarthy Spaniards who had roamed 
half round the world, French from the jaunty trader, 
with a certain air of breeding, down to the rough, un- 
kempt peasant, who had been lured away from his na- 
tive land with visions of an easily-made fortune and 
much liberty in New France, and convicts who had been 
given a choice between death and expatriation. Great 
stacks of furs still coming in from some quarter, ha- 
ranguing, bargaining, shouting, coming to blows, and 
the interference of soldiers. Was it so last summer 
when she sometimes ran out with Pani, though she 
had been forbidden to? 

It was growing very hot up here. The sun that 
looked so glorious through the long stretches of the 
forest and played about the St. Lawrence as if in a 
game of hide-and-seek with the boats, grew merciless. 
All the air was full of dancing stars and she was so 
tired trying to reach out to them, as if they were a 
stairway leading up to heaven, so that one need not be 
put in the dark, wretched ground. Oh, yes, she could 
find the way, and she half rose. 

It seemed a long journey in the darkness. Then 
there was a coolness on her brow, a soft hand passed 
over it, and she heard some murmuring, caressing 
words, She opened her eyes, she tried to rise. 


SUMMER TIME 


43 

‘'Lie still, little one,'' said the voice that soothed and 
somehow made it easy to obey. She was fanned slow- 
ly, and all was peace. 

“Did you climb up to the gallery all alone? And 
yesterday you seemed so weak, so fragile." 

“I wanted — some one. They had all gone " 

“Quebec looks like a besieged camp. Laurent, that 
is my husband," with a bright color, “said I could see it 
from the gallery, and that it resembled a great show. 
I went out and found you. At first I thought you were 
dead. But the Indian woman, Jolette is her Christian 
name, but I should have liked Wanamee better, carried 
you in here and after a while brought you to. But I 
thought sure you were dead. Poor little white Rose! 
Truly named." 

“But once I had red cheeks," in a faint voice. 

“Then thou wouldst have been a red Rose." 

She sang a delicious little chanson to a red rose from 
a lover. The child sighed in great content. 

“Were they good to you down there? That woman 
seemed — well, hard. And were you left all alone?" 

Rose began to tell the story of how the husband came 
home, and Madame Giffard could see that she shrank 
from him. “And when she woke they had all gone 
away. There was nothing to eat." 

“Merci I How careless and unkind I" But Madame 
Giffard could not know the little slave boys had ran- 
sacked the place. 

“I was not hungry. And it was so delightful to walk 


44 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


about again. Though I trembled all over and thought 
I should fall down.” 

you did. Now I have ordered you some good 
broth. And you must lie still to get rested.” 

“But it is so nice to talk. You were so beautiful yes- 
terday I was afraid. I never saw such fine clothes.” 

Madame Giffard was in a soft gray gown to-day that 
had long wrinkled sleeves, a very short waist, and a 
square neck filled in with ruffles that stood up in a stiff 
fashion. She looked very quaint and pretty, more ap- 
proachable, though the child felt rather than under- 
stood. 

“Are there no women here, and no society ? Merci ! 
but it is a strange place, a wilderness. And no balls or 
dinners or excursions, with gay little luncheons ? There 
is war all the time at home, but plenty of pleasure, too. 
And what is one to do here!” 

“The Indians have some ball games. But they often 
fight at the end.” 

The lady laughed. What a charming ripple it was, 
like the falls here and there, and there were many of 
them. 

“Not that kind,” she said, in her soft tone that could 
not wound the child. “A great room like a palace, and 
lights everywhere, hundreds of candles, and mirrors 
where you see yourself at every turn. Then festoons 
of gauzy things that wave about, and flowers — not 
always real ones, they fade so soon. And the men — 
there are officers and counts and marquises, and their 


SUMMER TIME 


45 


habiliments are — well, I can’t describe them so you 
would understand, but a hundred times finer than those 
of the Sieur de Champlain. And the women — oh, if I 
had worn a ball dress yesterday, you would have been 
speechless.” 

She laughed again gayly at the child’s innocence. 
And just then Wanamee came in with the broth. 

“Madame Dubray’s husband has come,” nodding to 
the child. 

“Yes, yesterday, just at night.” 

“He has great stores, they say. He is shrewd and 
means to make money. But there will be no quiet now 
for weeks. And it will hardly be safe to venture out- 
side the palisades.” 

Jolette had been among the first converts, a prisoner 
taken in one of the numerous Indian battles, rescued 
and saved from torture by the Sieur himself, and 
though she had been a wife of one of the chiefs, she had 
been beaten and treated like a slave. Champlain found 
her amenable to the influences of civilization, and in 
some respects really superior to the emigrants that 
had been sent over, though most of them were eagerly 
seized upon as wives for the workmen. French- 
women were not anxious to leave their native land. 

Madame Giffard fed her small protegee in a most 
dainty and enticing manner. The little girl would have 
thought herself in an enchanted country if she had 
known anything about enchantment. But most of the 
stories she had heard were of Indian superstition, and 


46 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

so horrid she never wanted to recur to them. Madame 
Dubray was much too busy to allow her thoughts to 
run in fanciful channels, and really lacked any sort of 
imagination. 

After she had been fed she leaned back on the pillow 
again. Madame soon sang her to sleep. The child 
was very much exhausted and in the quietude of slum- 
ber looked like a bit of carving. 

'‘Her eyelashes are splendid,’^ thought her watcher, 
"and her lips have pretty curves. There is something 
about her — she must have belonged to gentle people. 
But she will grow coarse under that woman’s train- 
ing.” 

She sighed a little. Did she want the child, she won- 
dered. If Laurent could make a fortune here in this 
curious land where most of the population seemed bar- 
barians. 

She drew from a work-bag a purse she was knitting 
of silken thread, and worked as she watched the sleep- 
ing child. Once she rose, but the view from the win- 
dow did not satisfy her, so she went out on the gallery. 
A French vessel was coming up into port, with its col- 
ors at half mast and its golden lilies shrouded with 
crape. Some important personage must be dead — was 
it the King? 

She heard her husband’s voice calling her and turned, 
took a few steps forward. "Oh, what has happened ?” 
she cried. 

"The King ! Our heroic Bearnese ! For though we 


SUMMER TIME 


47 


must always regret his change of religion, yet it was 
best for France and his rights. And a wretched mis- 
creant stabbed him in his carriage, but he has paid the 
penalty. And the new King is but a child, so a woman 
will rule. There is no knowing what policies may be 
overturned.” 

“Our brave King!” There were tears in her eyes. 

“They are loading vessels to return. Ah, what a 
rich country, even if they cannot find the gold the 
Spaniards covet. Such an array of choice furs be- 
wilders one, and to see them tossed about carelessly 
makes one almost scream with rage. Ah, my lady, 
you shall have in the winter what the Queen Mother 
would envy.” 

“Then you mean to stay” — uncertainly. 

“Yes, unless there should be great changes. I have 
not seen the Sieur since the news came. He was to go 
to Tadoussac the first of the week, and I had permis- 
sion to go with him. One would think to-day that 
Quebec was one of the most flourishing of towns, and it 
is hard to believe the contrary. But every soldier is on 
the watch. They trust no one. What have you been 
doing, ma mie?” 

“Oh, I have something to show you. Come.” 

She placed her finger to her lips in token of silence 
and led him back to the room she had left. The child 
was still sleep. 

“What an angel,” he murmured. “Is it — how did it 
come here ? I thought you said the little girl was ill.” 


48 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC . 

^'She was, and is. Doesn't she look like a marvellous 
statue? But no one seems to regard her beauty here." 

^‘She is too delicate." 

“But she was well and strong and daring, and could 
climb like a deer, M. Destournier says. She will be 
well again with good care. I want to keep her." 

“She will be a good plaything for thee when I am 
away. Though this may change many plans. The 
Sieur is bent on discoveries, and now he has orders to 
print his book. The maps are wonderful. What a 
man ! He should be a king in this new world. France 
does not understand the mighty empire he is founding 
for her." 

“Then you do not mind — if I keep the child? She 
has crept into the empty niche in my heart. I must 
have been directed by the saints when I felt the desire 
to go out. She would have died from exhaustion in 
the broiling sun." 

“Say the good Father, rather." 

“And yet we must adore the saints, the old pa- 
triarchs. Did not the disciples desire to build a me- 
mento to them?" 

“They were not such men as have disgraced the 
holy calling by fire and sword and. persecution. And 
if one can draw a free breath in this new land. The 
English with all their faults allow freedom in religion. 
It is these hated Jesuits. And I believe they are an- 
swerable for the murder of our heroic King." 

Wanamee summoned them to the midday repast. 


SUMMER TIME 


49 


The plain walnut boards that formed the table had 
been polished until the beautiful grain and the many 
curvings were brought out like the shades of a paint- 
ing. If the dishes were a motley array, a few pieces of 
silver and polished pewter with common earthenware 
and curious cups of carved wood as well as birch-bark 
platters, the viands were certainly appetizing. 

‘^One will not starve in this new country,” he said. 

''But it is the winter that tries one, M. Destournier 
says.” 

"There must be plenty of game. And France sends 
many things. But a colony must have agricultural re- 
sources. And the Indian raids are so destructive. We 
need more soldiers.” 

He was off again to plunge in the thick of business. 
It was supposed the fur company and the concessions 
ruled most of the bargain-making, but there were inde- 
pendent trappers who had not infrequently secured 
skins that were well-nigh priceless when they reached 
the hands of the Paris furrier. And toward night, 
when wine and whiskey had been passed around rather 
freely, there were broils that led to more than one 
fatal ending. Indian women thronged around as 
well, with curious handiwork made in their forest 
fastnesses. 

The child slept a long while, she was so exhausted. 

"Why, the sun is going over the mountains,” she 
began, in vague alarm. "I must go home. I did not 
mean to run away/' 


A LITTLE GI-RL IN OLD QUEBEC 


SO 

She sprang up on her feet, but swayed so that she 
would have fallen had not Madame caught her. 

“Nay, nay, thou art not well enough to run away 
from me, little one. I will send word down to the cabin 
of Mere Dubray. She has her husband, whom she has 
not seen for two years, and will care naught for thee. 
Women are all alike when a man’s love is proffered,” 
and she gave a gay little laugh. 

“My head feels light and swims around as if it was 
on the rapid river. But I must go home, I ” 

“Art afraid? Well, I promise nothing shall harm 
thee. Lie down again. I will send Wanamee with the 
word. Will it make thee happy — content?” 

The child looked at her hostess as if she was study- 
ing her, but her intellect had never been roused suffi- 
ciently for that. There was a vague delight stealing 
over her as slumber does at times, a confusion of what 
might have been duty if she had understood that even, 
in staying away from what was really her home. 
Mere Dubray would be angry. She would hardly beat 
her, she had only slapped her once during her illness, 
and that was to make her swallow some bitter tea. 
And something within her seemed to cry out for the 
adjuncts of this place. She had been in the room be- 
fore, she had even peered into the Sieur’s study. He 
always had a kindly word for her, she was different 
from the children of the workmen, and looked at one 
with sober, wondering eyes, as if she might fathom 
many things. 


SUMMER TIME 


51 


*^You do not want to go back?” — persuasively. 

Was it the pretty lady who changed the aspect of 
everything for her? 

‘'Oh, if I could stay here always !” she cried, with a 
vehemence of more years than had passed over her 
head. “It is better than the beautiful world where I sit 
on the rocks and wonder, and dream of the great be- 
yond that goes over and meets the sky. There are no 
cruel Indians then, and I want to wander on and on 
and listen to the voices in the trees, the plash of the 
great river, and the little stream that plays against the 
stones almost like the song you sung. If one could 
live there always and did not get hungry or cold ” 

“What a queer, visionary child! One would not 
look for it in these wilds. The ladies over yonder talk 
of them because it is a fashion, but when they ride 
through the parks and woods they want a train of ad- 
mirers. And with you it is pure love. Could you love 
any one as you do nature ? Was any one ever so good 
to you that you could fall down at their feet and wor- 
ship them ? Surely you do not love Madame Dubray ?” 

“M'sieu Ralph has been very kind. But you are like 
a wonderful flower one finds now and then, and dares 
not gather it lest the gods of the woods and trees 
should be angry.” 

“But I will gather you to my heart, little one,” and 
she slipped down beside the couch, encircling the 
child in her arms, and pressing kisses on brow and 
lips and pallid cheeks, bringing a roseate tint to them. 


52 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“And you must love me, you must want to stay with 
me. Oh, there was a little one once who was flesh of 
my flesh, on whom I lavished the delight and tender- 
ness of my soul, and the great Father took her. He 
sent nothing in her place, though I prayed and prayed. 
And now I shall put you there. Surely the good 
God cannot be angry, for you have no one.’' 

She had followed a sudden impulse, and was not 
quite sure it was for the best. Only her mother 
heart cried out for love. 

The child stared, motionless, and it dampened her 
ardor for the moment. She could not fathom the eyes. 

“Are you not glad ? Would you not like to live with 
me?” 

“Oh, oh!” It was a cry of rapture. She caught 
the soft white hands and kissed them. The joy was so 
new, so unexpected, she had no words for it. 


CHAPTER IV 


A HUSBAND 

Lalotte Dubray had had the gala day of her life. 
Her peasant wedding had been simple enough. The 
cure’s blessing after the civil ceremony, the dance on 
the green, the going home to the one room in the 
small thatched hut, the bunk-like bed along the wall, 
the two chests that answered for seats, a kitchen 
table, two shelves for a rude dresser, with dishes that 
had been earned by the hardest toil, but they were bet- 
ter off than some, for there was a pig grunting and 
squealing outside, and a little garden. 

Times had grown harder and harder. Antoine 
had been compelled to join the army and fight for he 
knew hot what. Then he had decamped, and instead 
of being shot had been sent to New France. Lalotte 
was willing enough to go with him. 

Hard as it was, it bettered their fortunes. He had 
gone out once as a sort of servant and handy man to 
the company. Then he had struck out for himself. 
He was shrewd and industrious, and did not mind 
hard work, nor hardships. 

Now he was in the lightest of spirits. He had some 
choice furs that were eagerly snapped up. The Indian 
53 


54 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


women had been shrewd enough to arrange tempting 
booths, where frying fish and roasted birds gave forth 
an appetizing fragrance. There were cakes of ground 
maize baked on hot stones, and though Champlain hack 
used his best efforts to keep some restraint on spirit- 
uous liquors, there were many ways of evading. 

Lalotte was fairly stupefied with amazement at her 
husband’s prosperity. 

‘‘Why, you are rich with that bag of money,” she 
cried. ^T never saw so much.” 

He laughed jovially. ^‘Better than standing up to 
be shot — he ! he ! Jacques Lallemont had the idea, and 
they wanted emigrants for New France bad enough. 
Why don’t they send more? The English understand 
better. Sacre! But it is a great country. Only 
Quebec stays little, when it should be a great place. 
Why can they not see ?” 

Lalotte could venture no explanation of that. She 
seemed to be in a maze herself. 

Vessels were taking on cargoes of furs as soon as 
they were inspected. The river as far as Tadoussac 
looked thriving enough. Antoine met old friends, but 
he was more level-headed than some, and did not get 
tipsy. Lalotte held her head higher than ever. 

When it was getting rather too rough they made 
their way out. 

^'Oh, the child!” she exclaimed, with a sudden 
twinge of conscience. '‘And those wretched slave boys. 
If your back is turned they are in league with the evil 


A HUSBAND 


55 

one himself. Baptism does not seem to drive it out. 
Whether the poor thing had her breakfast.’’ 

“Let that alone. It was mighty cool in Jean Arlac 
to foist her on thee. And now that we have left the 
crowd behind and are comfortable in the stomach.” 

“But the cost, Antoine. I could have gotten it for 
half!” 

“A man may treat his wife, when he has not seen her 
for two years,” and he gave a short chuckling laugh. 
“There has been a plan in my head, hatched in the long 
winter nights up at the bay. Why should man and 
wife be living apart when they might be together? 
Thou hast a hot temper, Lalotte, but it will serve to 
warm up the biting air.” 

“A hot temper !” resentfully. “Much of it you have 
taken truly I Two years soldiering — months in prison, 
and now two years again ” 

He laughed good-humoredly, if it was loud enough 
to wake echoes. 

“The saints know how I have wished for the sound 
of your voice. Indian women there are ready enough 
to be a wife for six months, and then perhaps some 
brave steals in at night and pouf I out goes your can- 
dle.” 

“The sin of it!” — holding up both hands. 

“Sins are not counted in this wild land. But there 
are no old memories, no talks with each other. Oh, 
you cannot think how the loneliness almost freezes 
up one’s very vitals, And I said to myself — I will 


56 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


bring Lalotte back with me. Why should we not share 
the same life and live over together our memories of 
sunny France? — not always sunny, either.” 

'‘To — take me with you” — gasping. 

"Yes, why not? As if a man cannot order his wife 
about!” he exclaimed jocosely, catching her around 
the waist and imprinting half a dozen kisses with 
smacks that were like an explosion. "Yes — I have 
sighed for thee many a night. There are high logs for 
firing, there are piles of bearskins, thick and fleecy as 
those of our best sheep at home. There is enough to 
eat at most times, and with thy cookery, ma mie, a 
man would feast. It is a rough journey, to be sure, 
but then thou wilt not refuse, or I shall think thou hast 
a secret lover.” 

"The Virgin herself knows I shall be glad to go 
with thee, Antoine,” and the tears of joy stood in 
her eyes. "There is nothing in all Quebec to compare 
with thee. And heaven knows one sometimes grows 
hungry of a winter night, when food is scarce and one 
depends upon sleep to make it up. No, I should be 
happy anywhere with thee.” 

They jogged along in a lover-like fashion, but they 
were not quite out of hearing of the din. At nightfall 
all dickering was stopped and guards placed about. 
But in many a tent there were drinking and gambling, 
and more than one affray. 

They came to the small unpretentious cabin. The 
door stood wide open, and the shaggy old dog was 


A HUSBAND 


57 

stretched on the doorstep, dozing. No soul was to be 
seen. 

'‘Where is the child, Britta? Why, she must have 
been carried off. She could not walk any distance.’^ 

The dog gave a wise look and flicked her ear. La- 
lotte searched every nook. 

“Where could she have gone?” in dismay. 

“Let the child alone. What is she to us ? Does Jean 
Arlac stay awake nights with trouble in his conscience 
about her ? She was not his wife’s child and so nothing 
to him. What more is she to us? Come, get some 
supper; I’ve not tasted such fried fish in an age as 
yours last night.” 

“The fish about here has a fine flavor, that is true. 
Those imps of boys, and not a stick of wood handy. 
Their skins shall be well warmed ; just wait until I get 
at them.” 

“Nay, I will get some wood. I am hungry as a bear 
in the thaw, when he crawls out.” 

But Lalotte, armed with a switch, began a survey of 
the garden. The work had been neglected, that was 
plain. There under a clump of bushes lay Pani, 
sleeping, with no fear of retribution on his placid face. 
And Lalotte put in some satisfactory work before he 
even stirred. 

But he knew nothing of his compeer, only they had 
been down to the river together. As for the child, 
when he returned she was gone. 

“Let the child alone, I say !” and Antoine brought his 


58 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

fist heavily down on the table. ‘‘Next thing you will be 
begging that we take her. Since the good Lord in His 
mercy has refrained from giving us any mouths to 
feed, we will not fly in His face for those who do not 
concern us. And the puling thing would die on the 
journey and have to be left behind to feed the wolves. 
Come! come! Attend to thy supper.’' 

The slim Indian convert was coming up the path. 
She was one of the Abenaqui tribe, and she had mostly 
discarded the picturesque attire. 

“The lady Madame Giffard sent me to say the 
girl is safe with her and will not be able to return to- 
night.” 

“So much the better,” growled Antoine, looking with 
hungry eyes on the fish browning before the coals. 

“Did she come and take her ? I went with my hus- 
band to see the traders.” 

“She has been very poorly, but is much better now. 
And miladi thought ” 

“Oh, yes, it is all right. Yes, I am glad,” nodding 
definitely, as if the matter was settled. She did not 
want to quarrel with Antoine about a child that was no 
kin to them, when he was so much like her old lover. 
He seemed to bring back the hopes of youth and a 
certain gayety to which she had long been a stranger. 

After enjoying his meal he brought out his pipe and 
stretched himself in a comfortable position, begging 
her to attend to him and let the slave boy take the frag- 
ments, He went on to describe the settlement of the 


A HUSBAND 


59 


fur merchants and trappers at Hudson Bay, but toned 
down much of the rudeness of the actual living. A few 
of the white women, wives of the leaders and the men 
in command, formed a little community. There was 
card-playing and the relating of adventures through 
the long winter evenings, that sometimes began soon 
after three. Dances, too, Indian entertainments, and 
for daylight, flying about on snowshoes, and skating. 
There was a short summer. The Indian women were 
expert in modelling garments — everything was of fur 
and dressed deerskins. 

Few knew how to read at that day among the seek- 
ers of fortune and adventurers, but they were shrewd 
at keeping accounts, nevertheless. There were certain 
regulations skilfully evaded by the knowing ones. 

No, it would never do to take the child. She had 
no real mother love for it, yet she often wondered 
whose child it might be, since it was not Catherine 
Arlac’s ? Strange stories about foundlings often came 
to light in old France. 

The death of the King rather disorganized matters, 
for no one quite knew what the new order of things 
would be. The Sieur de Champlain sorrowed truly, 
for he had ever been a staunch admirer of Henry of 
Navarre. Demont had not had his concession renewed 
and to an extent the fur trade had been thrown open. 
Several vessels were eagerly competing for stores of 
Indian peltries, as against those of the company. In- 
deed it was a regular carnival time. One would think 


6o 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


old Quebec a most prosperous settlement, if judged 
only by that. But none of the motley crew were 
allowed inside the palisades. The Sieur controlled the 
rough community with rare good judgment. He had 
shown that he could punish as well as govern ; fight, if 
need be, and then be generous to the foe. Indeed in the 
two Indian battles he had won much prestige, and had 
frowned on the torture of helpless prisoners. 

Madame Giffard besought her husband that evening 
to consent to her taking the care of little Rose, at 
least while they remained in Canada, the year and per- 
haps more. 

“And that may unfit her for her after life. You will 
make a pet and plaything of her, and then it would be 
cruel to return her to this woman to whom it seems she 
was given. She may be claimed some day.” 

“And if we liked her, might we not take her home 
with us? There seems no doubt but what she came 
from France. Not that I could put any one quite in 
the place of my lost darling, but it will afford me much 
interest through the winter, which, by all accounts, is 
dreary. I can teach her to read — she hardly knows a 
French letter. M. Destournier has taken a great inter- 
est in her. And she needs care now, encouragement 
to get well.” 

“Let us do nothing rash. The Sieur may be able to 
advise what is best,” he returned gently. He felt he 
would rather know more of the case before he took 
the responsibility. 


A HUSBAND 


6i 


“She is so sweet, so innocent. She did not really 
know what love was,” and Madame laughed softly. 
“This Catherine Arlac must have been a maid, I think. 
Yes, I am sure she must have come from gentle people. 
She has every indication of it.” 

“Well, thou canst play nurse a while and it will inter- 
est thee, and fill up thy lonely hours, for I have much 
to do and must take some journeys quite impossible 
for a woman. And then we will decide, if this woman 
is ready to part with her. Ma mie, thou knowest I 
would not refuse thee any wish that was possible.” 

“That is true, Laurent,” and she kissed him fondly. 

Destournier had been busy every moment of the day 
and had been closeted with the Sieur until late in the 
evening. Champlain felt now that he must give up 
an exploring expedition, on which his heart was set, 
and return to France, where large interests of the 
colony were at stake. There was much to be arranged. 

So it was not until the next morning that he found 
his way to the Dubray house, and then he was sur- 
prised at the tidings. Lalotte was almost a girl again 
in her interest in the new plans. As soon as a suffi- 
cient number had sold their wares to make a journey 
safe from marauders they would start for Hudson’s 
Bay, while the weather was pleasant. Of course the 
child must be left behind. She had no real claim on 
them; neither could she stand the journey. She was 
now with Madame Giffard. 

Thither he hurried. Little Rose had improved won- 


62 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

derfully, though she was almost transparently thin, 
and her eyes seemed larger and softer in their myste- 
rious darkness. Already love had done much for her. 

He told his story and the plans of the Dubrays. 

“Then I can stay here,” she cried with kindling eyes, 
reaching out her small hand as if to sign her right in 
Madame’s. 

Madame’s eyes, too, were joyous as she raised them 
in a sort of gratitude to her visitor. 

“How strange it comes about,” she cried. “And 
now, M. Destournier, will you learn all you can about 
this Catherine Arlac; where she came from in France, 
and if she was any sort of a trustworthy person? It 
may some day be of importance to the child.” 

“Yes, anything I can do to advance her interest you 
may depend on. Are you happy, little one?” 

“I could fly like a bird, I am so light with joy. But 
I would not fly away from here. Oh, then I shall not 
have to go back ! I was frightened at M. Dubray.” 

“I don’t wonder. Yet these are the kind of men 
New France needs, who are not afraid of the wilder- 
ness and its trials. The real civilization follows on 
after the paths are trodden down. Did you go out yes- 
terday?” to the lady. 

“Only on the gallery.” 

“That was safest. Such a crowd was fit only for 
Indian women, and some of them shrank from it, I no- 
ticed. You heard the news about the King?” 

“The sad, sad news. Yes.” 


A HUSBAND 


63 


^*And the Sieur feels he must go back to France/^ 

^What is Quebec to do? And if there is an Indian 
raid? Oh, this new land is full of fears. 

“And think of the strifes and battles of the old 
world ! Ah, if peace could reign. Yet the bravest of 
men are in the forefront."” 

Then he came over to the child. 

“Who brought you here yesterday?” he asked, with 
a smile. 

“I was all alone. I had nothing to eat. I wanted to 
get out in the sunshine. I walked, but presently I 
shook so, I crawled up on the gallery. And then ” 

She looked wistfully at miladi, who took up the rest 
of the journey. 

“You were a brave little girl. But what if Madame 
had not chanced to come out? Why, you might have 
died.” 

The dark eyes grew humid. “It does not hurt to 
die,” she said slowly. “Only if you did not have to be 
put in the ground.” 

“Don’t talk of such things,” interposed Madame, 
with a half shudder. “You are going to get well now, 
and run about and show me the places you love. And 
we can sail up to the islands and through the St. Charles, 
that looks so fascinating and mysterious, can we not ?” 
smiling up at Destournier. 

“Oh, yes, a month will finish the trading, for the 
ships will want to start with their freight, while the 
weather is fine. True, the Indians and many of the 


64 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

coureurs de bois will loiter about until the last moment. 
There is to be a great Indian dance, I hear. They gen- 
erally break up with one that has a good deal of sav- 
agery in it, but this early one is quite mild, I have 
understood, and gives one an opportunity to see them 
in their fine feathers and war paint.” 

‘^Oh, it must be interesting. Would it be safe to 
go?” she inquired. 

‘With a bodyguard, yes. Your husband and 
myself, and we might call in the services of the Du- 
brays. Madame is a host in herself. And they are 
glad, it seems, to shift the care of the child on some 
one else,” lowering his voice. 

“You will not forget to inquire ” 

“Why, there must be a record here. The Sieur has 
the name and addresses of all the emigrants, I think. 
There have not been many shiploads of women.” 

“She has no indication of peasant parentage. There 
is a curious delicacy about her, but merci! what won- 
derful and delightful ignorance. It is like a fallow 
field. Mere Dubray seems to have sown nothing in it. 
Oh, I promise myself rare pleasure in teaching her 
many things.” 

“She has a quick and peculiar imagination. I am 
glad she has fallen into other hands. Settling a new 
country is a great undertaking, especially when one 
has but a handful of people and you have to uproot 
other habits of life and thought. I wonder if one can 
civilize an Indian !” and he laughed doubtfully. 


A HUSBAND 


65 


“But it is to save their souls, I thought 

“Yet some of them worship the same God that we 
do, only He is called the Great Manitou. And they 
have an hereafter for the braves at least, a happy hunt- 
ing ground. But they are cruel and implacable enemies 
with each other. And we have wars ‘at home as well. 
It is a curious muddle, I think. You come from a 
Huguenot family, I believe.’^ 

“My mother did. But she went with my father. 
There were no family dissensions. Does it make so 
much difference if one is upright and honest and 
kindly?’’ 

“Kindly. If that could be put in the creed. ’Tis a 
big question,” and he gave a sigh. “At least you are 
proving that part of the creed,” and he crossed over to 
the child, chatting with her in a pleasant manner until 
he left them. 

That evening there was a serious discussion in the 
Sieur’s study. Captain Chauvin was to return also, 
and who was most trustworthy to be put in command 
of the infant colony was an important matter. There 
had been quite an acreage of grain sown the year be- 
fore, maize was promising, and a variety of vegetables 
had been cultivated. Meats and fish were dried and 
salted. They had learned how to protect themselves 
from serious inroads of the scurvy. The houses in the 
post were being much improved and made more secure 
against the rigors of the long winter. 

An officer who had spent the preceding winter at 


66 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


the fort was put in command, and the next day the 
garrison and the workmen were called in and enjoined 

render him full obedience. 

Destournier and Gifford were to undertake some ad- 
ventures in a northerly direction, following several 
designated routes that Champlain had expected to pur- 
sue. Their journeys would not be very long. 

As for Rose, she improved every day and began to 
chatter delightfully, while her adoration of Madame 
Giffard was really touching, and filled hours that 
would otherwise have been very tedious. 

They had brought with them a few books. Madame 
was an expert at embroidery and lace-making, but was 
aghast when she realized her slender stock of mate- 
rials, and that it would be well-nigh a year before any 
could come from France. 

'‘But there is bead work, and the Indian women 
make threads out of grasses,” explained Wanamee. 
“And feathers of birds are sewed around garments and 
fringes are cut. Oh, miladi will find some employment 
for her fingers.” 

Mere Dubray made no objection to accompanying 
them to the Indian dance. She had been to several of 
them, but they were wild things that one could not well 
understand; nothing like the village dances at home. 
“But what would you ? These were savages !” 

“I wish I could go, too,” the child said wistfully. 
“But I could not climb about nor stand up as I used. 
When will I be able to run around again ?” 


A HUSBAND 


67 

She was gaining every day and went out on the gal- 
lery for exercise. She was a very cheerful invalid; 
indeed miladi was so entertaining she was never 
weary when with her, and if her husband needed her, 
Wanamee came to sit with the child. Rose knew many 
words in the language, as well as that of the unfortu- 
nate Iroquois. 

All they had been able to learn about Catherine 
Arlac was that she had come from Paris to Honfleur, 
a widow, with a little girl. And Paris was such a great 
and puzzling place for a search.* 

^'But she is a sweet human rose with no thorns, and 
I must keep her,” declared miladi. 

Laurent Giffard made no demur. He was really 
glad for his wife to have an interest while he was away. 

The party threaded their way through the narrow 
winding paths that were to be so famous afterward 
and witness the heroic struggle, when the lilies of 
France went down for the last time, and the heritage 
that had cost so much in valiant endeavor and blood 
and treasure was signed away. 

There were flaming torches and swinging lanterns 
and throngs wending to the part beyond the tents. 
The dance was not to pass a certain radius, where 
guards were stationed. Already there was a central 
fire of logs, around which the braves sat with their 
knees drawn up and their chins resting upon them, 
looking as if they were asleep. 

‘'A fire this warm night,’^ said miladi, in irony. 


68 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“We could hardly see them without it,” returned 
her husband. 

At the summons of a rude drum that made a start- 
ling noise, the braves rose, threw down their blankets 
and displayed their holiday attire of paint, fringes, 
beads, and dressed deerskins with great headdresses of 
feathers. Another ring formed round them. One 
brave, an old man, came forward, and gesticulating 
wildly, went through a series of antics. One after 
another fell in, and the slow tread began to increase. 
Then shrill songs, with a kind of musical rhythm, low 
at first, but growing louder and louder, the two or 
three circles joining in, the speed increasing until they 
went whirling around like madmen, shouting, thrust- 
ing at each other with their brawny arms, until all 
seemed like a sudden frenzy. 

“Oh, they will kill each other!” almost shrieked 
Madame. 

^‘Non, non, but small loss if they did,” commented 
Madame Dubray. 

They paused suddenly. It seemed like disentangling 
a chain. The confusion was heightened by the cries 
and the dancing feather headdresses that might have 
been a flock of giant birds. But presently they resolved 
into a circle again, and began to march to a slow chant. 
One young fellow seized a brand from the fire and 
began a wild gyration, pointing the end to the circle, at 
random, it seemed. Then another and another until 
the lights flashed about madly and there was a scent 


A HUSBAND 


69 

of burning feathers. The circle stood its ground 
bravely, but there were shrieks and mocking laughter 
as they danced around, sometimes making a lunge out 
at the spectators, who would draw back in affright, a 
signal for roars of mirth. 

“They will burn each other up,’’ cried Madame. 
“Oh, let us go. The noise is more than I can bear. 
And if they should attack us. Do you remember what 
M. du Parc was telling us?” 

“I think we have had enough of it,” began M. Gif- 
fard. “They are said to be very treacherous. What 
is to hinder them from attacking the whites ?” 

“The knowledge that they have not yet received any 
pay, and their remaining stock would be confiscated. 
They are not totally devoid of self-interest, and most 
of them have a respect for the fighting powers of the 
Sieur and his punishing capacity, as well.” 

As they left the place the noise seemed to subside, 
though it was like the roar of wild animals. 

“Am I to remain here all winter with these sav- 
ages? Can I not return with M. de Champlain?” 
pleaded Madame Giffard. 

“Such a time would be almost a Godsend in the 
winter,” declared Destournier. “But they will be hun- 
dreds of miles away, and the near Indians are some- 
times too friendly, when driven by hunger to seek the 
fort. Oh, you will find no cause for alarm, I think.” 

“And how long will they keep this up?” she asked, 
as they were ascending the parapet from which they 


70 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


could still see the moving mass and the flashing 
lights, weird amid the surrounding darkness. 

“They will sit in a ring presently and smoke the 
pipe of peace and enjoyment, and drop off to sleep. 
And for your satisfaction, not a few among those were 
fur-hunters and traders, white men, who have given up 
the customs of civilized life and enjoy the hardships 
of the wilderness, but who will fight like tigers for 
their brethren when the issue comes. They are sel- 
dom recreant to their own blood.’' 

“I do not want to see it again, ever,” she cried pas- 
sionately. “I shall hardly sleep for thinking of it and 
some horrible things a sailor told on shipboard. I can 
believe them all true now.” 

“And we have had horrible battles, cruelty to prison- 
ers,” declared her husband. “These poor savages have 
never been taught anything better, and are always 
at war with each other. But for us, who have a 
higher state of civilization, it seems incredible that we 
should take a delight in destroying our brethren.” 

It was quiet and peaceful enough inside the fort. 
The Sieur was still engrossed with his papers, marking 
out routes and places where lakes and rivers might be 
found and where trading posts might be profitably set, 
and colonies established. It was a daring ambition to 
plant the lilies of France up northward, to take in the 
mighty lakes they had already discovered and to cross 
the continent and find the sure route to India. There 
were heroes in those days and afterwards. 


CHAPTER V 


CHANGING ABOUT 

‘Tf you are ready for your sail and have the cour- 


Laurent Giffard kissed his pretty wife as she sat with 
some needlework in her hand, telling legendary tales, 
that were half fairy embellishments, to the little Rose, 
who was listening eager-eyed and with a delicious 
color in her cheeks. The child lived in a sort of fairy 
land. Miladi was the queen, her gowns were gold and 
silver brocade, but what brocade was, it would have 
been difficult for her to describe. She was very happy 
in these days, growing strong so she could take walks 
outside the fort, though she did not venture to do 
much climbing. The old life was almost forgotten. 
Mere Dubray was very busy with her own affairs, and 
her husband was as exigent as any new lover. Her 
cookery appealed to him in the most important place, 
his stomach. 

‘"And to think I have done without thee these two 
years, he would moan. 

When she saw her, the little girl had a strange fear 
that at the last moment they would seize her and take 
her up to the fur country with them. Pani was to go ; 

71 


72 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


he was of some service, if you kept a sharp eye on him, 
and had a switch handy. 

“Til tell you,” he said to Rose when he waylaid her 
one day, “because you never got me into trouble and 
had me beaten. I shall have to start with them and I 
will go two days’ journey, so they won’t suspect. Then 
at night I’ll start back. I like Quebec, and you and the 
good gentleman who throws you a laugh when he 
passes, instead of striking you. And I’ll hunt and fish, 
and be a sailor. I’ll not starve. And you will not tell 
even miladi, who is so beautiful and sweet. Promise.” 

Rose promised. And now they were to go down the 
river. 

“The courage, of course,” and Madame glanced up 
smilingly. “We take the child for the present.” 

“I shall soon be jealous, ma mie, but it is a pleasure 
to see a bright young thing about that can talk with 
her eyes and not chatter shrilly. Mon dieu! what 
voices most of the wives have, and they are transmit- 
ting them to their children. Yes ; we will start at noon, 
and be gone two days. Destournier has some messages 
to deliver. Put on thy plainest frock, we are not in 
sunny France now.” 

She had learned that and only dressed up now and 
then for her husband’s sake, or to please the child. 
And she had made her some pretty frocks out of petti- 
coats quite too fine for wear here. 

Rose was overjoyed. Wanamee was to accompany 
them. When they were ready they were piloted down 


CHANGING ABOUT 


73 


to the wharf by Monsieur, and there was M. Ralph to 
welcome them. The river was brisk with boats and 
canoes and shallops. The sun glistened on the naked 
backs of Indian rowers bending with every stroke of 
the paddles to a rhythmic sort of sound, that later on 
grew to be regular songs. There were squaws han- 
dling canoes with grace and dexterity. One would 
have considered Quebec a great entrepot. 

But the river with its beautiful bank, its groves of 
trees that had not yet been despoiled, its frowning rocks 
glinting in the sunshine, its wild flowers, its swift daz- 
zle of birds, its great flocks of geese, snowy white, in 
the little coves that uttered shrill cries and then hud- 
dled together, the islands that reared grassy heads a 
moment and were submerged as the current swept over 
them. 

‘‘Why are they not drowned?” asked Rose. “Or 
can they swim like the little Indian boys?” 

M. Giffard laughed — ^he often did at her quaint 
questions. 

“They are like the trees ; they have taken root ever 
so far down, and the tide cannot sweep them away.” 

“And is Quebec rooted that way ? Do the rocks hold 
fast? And — all the places, even France?” 

“They have staunch foundations. The good God 
has anchored them fast.” 

A puzzled look wavered over her face. “Monsieur, 
it is said the great world is round. Why does not the 
water spill out as it turns ? It would fall out of a paiL” 


74 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


‘'Ah, child, that once puzzled wiser heads than thine. 
And years must pass over thy head before thou canst 
understand.’’ 

“When I am as big as miladi?” 

“I am afraid I do not quite understand myself, 
though I learned it in the convent, I am quite sure. 
And I could not see why we did not fall off. Some of 
the good nuns still believed the world was flat,” and 
miladi laughed. “Women’s brains were not made for 
over-much study.” 

“Is it far to France?” 

“Two months’ or so sail.” 

“On a river?” 

“Oh, on a great ocean. We must look at the Sieur’s 
chart. Out of sight of any land for days and days.” 

“I should feel afraid. And if you did not know 
where the land was?” 

“But the sailor can tell by his chart.” 

What a wonderful world it was. She had supposed 
Quebec the greatest thing in it. And now she knew 
so much about France and the beautiful city called 
Paris, where the King and Queen lived, and ladies who 
went gowned just like Madame, the first time she saw 
her. And there was an England. M. Ralph had been 
there and seen their island empire, which could not 
compare with France. She had a vague idea France 
was all the rest of the world. 

What days they were, for the weather was unusually 
fine. Now and then they paused to explore some small 


CHANGING ABOUT 


75 


isle, or to get fresh game. As for fish, in those days 
the river seemed full of them. So many small streams 
emptied into the St. Lawrence. Berries were abun- 
dant, and they feasted to their hearts’ content. The In- 
dians dried them in the sun for winter use. 

Tadoussac was almost as busy as Quebec. As the 
fur monopoly had been in part broken up, there were 
trappers here with packs of furs, and several Indian 
settlements. It was Champlain’s idea which Giffard 
was to work up, to enlist rival traders to become 
sharers in the traffic, and enlarge the trade, instead of 
keeping in one channel. 

Madame and the little girl, piloted by Wanamee, 
visited several of the wigwams, and the surprise of the 
Indian women at seeing the white lady and the child 
was great indeed. Rose was rather afraid at first, and 
drew back. 

‘‘They take it that you are the wife of the great 
father in France, that is the King,” translated Wana- 
mee, “because you have crossed the ocean. And you 
must not blame their curiosity. They will do you no 
harm.” 

But they wanted to examine my lady’s frock and 
her shoes, with their great buckles that nearly covered 
her small foot. Her sleeves came in for a share of 
wonder, and her white, delicate arms they loaded with 
curious bracelets, made of shells ground and pol- 
ished until they resembled gems. Then, too, they must 
feast them with a dish of Indian cookery, which 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


76 

seemed ground maize broken by curiously arranged 
millstones, in which were put edible roots, fish, and 
strips of dried meat, that proved quite too much for 
miladi's delicate stomach. The child had grown accus- 
tomed to it, as Lalotte sometimes indulged in it, but she 
always shook her head in disdain and frowned on it. 

‘‘Such pot au feu no one would eat at home,” she 
would declare emphatically. 

They were loaded with gifts when they came away. 
Beautifully dressed deerskins, strips of work that 
were remarkable, miladi thought, and she wondered 
how they could accomplish so much with so few ad- 
vantages. 

The child had been a great source of amusement to 
all on shipboard. Her utter ignorance of the outside 
world, her quaint frankness and innocence tempted 
Giffard to play off on her curiosity and tell wonderful 
tales of the mother country. And then Wanamee would 
recount Indian legends and strange charms and rites 
used by the sages of the Abenaquis in the time of her 
forefathers, before any white man had been seen in the 
country. 

Then their homeward route began, the pause at the 
Isle d’Orleans, the narrowing river, the more familiar 
Point Levis, the frowning rocks, the palisades, and the 
fort. All the rest was wildness, except the clearing 
that had been made and kept free that no skulking 
enemy should take an undue advantage and surprise 
them by a sudden onslaught. 


CHANGING ABOUT 


77 


The Sieur de Champlain came down to meet them. 
Rose was leaping from point to point like a young deer. 
It was no longer a pale face, it had been a little changed 
by sun and wind. 

'"Well, little one, hast thou made many discoveries?” 

‘^Oh, yes, indeed. I would not mind going to France 
now. And we have brought back some such queer 
things ; beautiful, too. But we did not like some of the 
cooking, miladi and I, and Quebec is dearer, for it is 
home,” and her eyes shone with delight. 

“Home ! Thanks, little maid, for your naming it on 
this wise,” and he smiled down in the eager face as he 
turned to greet Madame. 

She was a little weary of the wildness and loneli- 
ness of dense woods and great hills and banks of the 
river, that roared and shrieked at times as if ghost- 
haunted. Wanamee’s stories had touched the super- 
stitious threads of her brain. 

M. Giffard took the Sieur’s arm and drew him a trifle 
aside. Destournier offered his to the lady and assisted 
her up the rocky steep. Many a tragedy would pass 
there before old Quebec became new Quebec, with fa- 
mous and heroic story. 

She leaned a little heavily on his arm. “The motion 
of the ship is still swaying my brain,” she remarked, 
with a soft laugh. “So, if I am awkward, I crave your 
patience. Oh, see that child ! She will surely fall.” 

Rose was climbing this way and that, now hugging 
a young tree growing out of some crevice, then letting 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


78 

it go with a great flap, now snatching a handful of 
wild flowers, and treading the fragrance out of wild 
grapes. 

“She is sure-footed like any other wild thing. I saw 
her first perched upon that great gray rock yonder.” 

“The daring little monkey! I believe they brave 
every danger. I wonder if we shall ever learn anything 
about her. The Sieur has so much on hand, and men 
are wont to drop the thread of a pursuit or get it tan- 
gled up .with other things, so it would be too much of a 
burthen to ask him. And another year I shall go to 
Paris myself. If she does not develop too much way- 
wardness, and keeps her good looks, I shall take 
her.” 

“Then I think you may be quite sure of a compan- 
ion.” 

Wanamee had preceded them and thrown open the 
room to the slant rays of western sunshine. Madame 
sank down on a couch, exhausted. The Indian girl 
brought in some refreshments. 

“Stay and partake of some,” she said, with a win- 
some smile. “I cannot be bereft of everybody.” 

But the child came in presently, eager and full of 
news that was hardly news to her, after all. 

“Pani is here,” she exclaimed. “Madame Dubray 
and her husband have gone with the trappers. They 
took Pani. He said he would run away. They kept 
him two days, and tied him at night, but he loosened 
the thongs and ran nearly all night. Then he has hid- 


CHANGING ABOUT 


79 

den away, for some new people have taken the house. 
And he wants to stay here. He will be my slave.” 

She looked eagerly at my lady. 

“Thou art getting to be such a venturesome midge 
that it may be well to have so devoted an attendant. 
Yet I remember he left thee alone and ill and hungry 
not so long ago.” 

Rose laughed gayly. 

“If he had not left me I could not have taken the 
courage to crawl out. And no one else might have 
come. He wanted to see the ships. And Madame 
Dubray whipped him well, so that score is settled,” 
with a sound of justice well-paid for in her voice. 

“We will see” — nodding and laughing. 

“Then can I tell him?” 

“The elders had better do that. But there will be 
room enough in Quebec for him and us, I fancy,” re- 
turned miladi. 

Rose ran away. Pani was waiting out on the gal- 
lery. 

“They will not mind,’^ she announced. “But you 
must have some place to sleep, and” — studying him 
critically from the rather narrow face, the bony shoul- 
ders, and slim legs — “something to eat. Mere Du- 
bray had plenty, except towards spring when the 
stores began to fail.” 

“I can track rabbits and hares, and catch fish on the 
thin places in the rivers. Oh, I shall not starve. But 
I’m hungry.” 


8o 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


The wistful look in his eyes touched her. 

‘‘Let us find Wanamee/' she exclaimed, leading the 
way to the culinary department. 

Miladi had been surprised and almost shocked at the 
rough manner of living in this new France. The food, 
too, was primitive, lacking in the delicacies to which 
she had been used, and the manners she thought bar- 
barous. But for M. Destournier and the courtesy of 
the Sieur she would have prayed to return at once. 

“Wait a little,'' pleaded Laurent. “If there is a for- 
tune to be made in this new world, why should we not 
have our share? And I can see that there is. Matters 
are quite unsettled at home, but if we go back with 
gold in our purses we shall do well enough." 

Then the child had appealed to her. And it was flat- 
tering to be the only lady of note and have homage 
paid to her. 

So the children sought Wanamee, and while Pani 
brought some sticks and soon had a bed of coals, 
Wanamee stirred up some cakes of rye and maize, and 
the boy prepared a fish for cooking. He was indeed 
hungry, and his eyes glistened with the delight of eat- 
ing. 

“It smells so good," said Rose. “Wanamee, bring 
me a piece. I can always eat now, and a while ago I 
could not bear the smell of food." 

“You were so thin and white. And Mere Dubray 
thought every morning you would be dead. You 
wouldn't like to be put in the ground, would you ?" 


CHANGING ABOUT 


8i 


“Oh, no, no !” shivering. 

“Nor burned. Then you go to ashes and only the 
bones are left.” 

“That is horrid, too. Burning hurts. I have burned 
my fingers with coals.” 

“But my people don’t mind it. They are very brave. 
And you go to the great hunting grounds way over to 
the west, where the good Manitou has everything, and 
you don’t have to work, and no one beats you.” 

“The white people have a heaven. That is above the 
sky. And when the stars come out it is light as day on 
the other side, and there are flowers and trees, and riv- 
ers and all manner of fruit such as you never see here.” 

“I’d rather hunt. When I get to be a man I shall 
go off and discover wonderful things. In some of the 
mountains there is gold. And out by the great oceans 
where the Hurons have encamped there are copper and 
silver. The company talked about it. Some were for 
going there. And there were fur animals, all the 
same.” 

Rose had been considering another subject. 

“Pani,” she began, with great seriousness, “you 
are not any one’s slave now.” 

“No” — rather hesitatingly. “The Dubrays will 
never come back, or if they should next summer, with 
furs, I will run away again up to the Saguenay, where 
they will not look. But there are Indian boys in plenty 
where the tribes fight and take prisoners.” 

“You shall be my slave.” 


82 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


The young Indian’s cheek flushed. 

“The slave of a girl !” he said, with a touch of dis- 
dain. 

“Why not ? I should not beat you.” 

“Oh, you couldn’t” — triumphantly. 

“But you might be miladi’s slave,” suggested Wana- 
mee, “and then you could watch the little one and fol- 
low her about to see that nothing harmed her.” 

“There shouldn’t anything hurt her.” He sprang 
up. “You see I am growing tall, and presently I shall 
be a man. But I won’t be a slave always.” 

“No, no,” said the Indian woman. 

“That was very good, excellent,” pointing to the two 
empty birch-bark dishes, which he picked up and threw 
on the coals, a primitive way to escape dish washing. 
“I will find you a heap more. I will get fish or berries, 
and oh, I know where the bees have stored a lot of 
honey in a hollow tree.” 

“You let them alone for another month,” commanded 
Wanamee. “Honey — that will be a treat indeed.” 

Miladi had missed the sweets of her native land, 
though there they had not been over-plentiful, since 
royalty must needs be served first. They bought maple 
sugar and a kind of crude syrup of the Abenaqui 
women, who were quite experts in making it. When 
the sun touched the trees in the morning when the 
hoarfrost had disappeared, they inserted tubes of bark, 
rolled tightly, and caught the sap in the troughs. Then 
they filled their kettles that swung over great fires, and 


CHANGING ABOUT 


83 

the fragrance arising made the forests sweet with a 
peculiar spiciness. It was a grand time for the chil- 
dren, who snatched some of the liquid out of the kettle 
on a birch-bark ladle, and ran into the woods for it to 
cool. Pani had often been with them. 

“Let us go down to the old house,’’ exclaimed Rose. 
“Do you know who is there ?” 

“Pierre Gaudrion. He gets stone for the new walls 
they are laying against the fort. And there are five or 
six little ones.” 

“It must be queer. Oh, let us go and see them.” 

She was off like a flash, but he followed as swiftly. 
Here was the garden where she had pulled weeds with 
a hot hatred in her heart that she would have liked to 
tear up the whole garden and throw it over in the river. 
She glanced around furtively — what if Mere Dubray 
should come suddenly in search of Pani. 

Three little ones were tumbling about on the grass. 
The oldest girl was grinding at the rude mill, a boy 
was making something out of birch branches, interlaced 
with willow. A round, cheerful face glanced up from 
patching a boy’s garment, and smiled. Madame Gau- 
drion’s mother had been a white woman left at the 
Saguenay basin in a dying condition, it was supposed, 
but she had recovered and married a half-breed. One 
daughter had cast in her lot with a roving tribe. Pierre 
Gaudrion had seen the other in one of the journeys up 
to Tadoussac and brought her home. 

The Sieur did not discourage these marriages, for 


84 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

the children generally affiliated with the whites, and if 
the colony was to prosper there must be marriages and 
children. 

Rose stopped suddenly, rather embarrassed, for all 
her bravado. 

“I used to live here,’' as if apologizing. 

‘'Yes. But Mere Dubray was not your mother.” 

"No. Nor Catherine Arlac.” 

The woman shook her head. "I know not many peo- 
ple. We live on the other side. And the babies come 
so fast I have not much time. But Pierre say now we 
must have bigger space and garden for the children to 
work in. So we are glad when Mere Dubray go up to 
the fur country with her man. You were ill, they said. 
But you do not look ill. Did you not want to go with 
her?” 

"Oh, no, no. And I live clear up there,” nodding to 
the higher altitude. "M’sieu Hebert is there and Ma- 
dame. And a beautiful lady, Madame Giffiard. I did 
not love Mere Dubray.” 

"If I have a child that will not love me, it would 
break my heart. What else are little ones for until 
they grow up and marry in turn?” 

"But — I was not her child.” 

"And your mother.” 

"I do not know. She was dead before I could re- 
member. Then I was brought from France.” 

Suddenly she felt the loss of her mother. She be- 
longed to no one in the world. 


CHANGING ABOUT 


85 

‘Toor petite” She made a sudden snatch at her 
own baby and hugged it so tightly that it shrieked, at 
which she laughed. 

“Some day a man will hug thee and thou wilt not 
scream, she said in good humor. 

Pani came from round the corner and then darted 
back. The boy left his work and came forward. 

“Who was that?’' he asked. “My father said 'get 
an Indian boy to work in the garden.’ I am making a 
chair for the little one. And I can’t tell which are 
weeds. Yesterday I pulled up some onions and father 
was angry, but he could set them out again.” 

Rose laughed at that, and thought it remarkable 
that his father did not beat him. 

“Pani might show you a little. He belongs to me 
now. We both used to work in the garden. Mere 
Dubray was always knitting and cooking.” 

Pani emerged again. “Yes, let us go,” and Rose 
led the way, but she would have liked to throw her- 
self down among the babies, who seemed all arms and 
legs. 

“Can you read?” the boy said suddenly. “We have 
a book and I can read quite well. My father knows 
how. And I want to be a great man like the Sieur, 
and some of the soldiers. I want to know how to 
keep accounts, and to go to France some time in the big 
ships.” 

Rose colored. “I am going to learn to read this 
winter, when we have to stay in. But it is very diffi- 


86 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


cult — tiresome. I’d rather climb the rocks and watch 
the birds. I had some once that would come for 
grains and bits of corn cake. And the geese were so 
tame down there by the end of the garden.” 

The rows of corn stood up finely, shaking out their 
silken heads, turning to a bronze red. Then there 
were potatoes. These were of the Dubrays’ plant- 
ing, as well as some of the smaller beds. 

“M’sieu Hebert gave father some of these plants. 
He knows a great deal, and he can make all kinds of 
medicine. It is very fine to know a great deal, isn’t 
it?” 

'^But it must be hard to study so much,” returned 
Rose, with a sigh. 

'T don’t think so. I wish I had ever so many books 
like the Sieur and M. Hebert. And you can find out 
places — there are so many of them in the world. And 
do you know there are English people working with 
all their might down in Virginia, and Spanish and 
Dutch ! But some day we shall drive them all out and 
it will be New France as far as you can go. And the 
Indians ” 

“You can’t drive the Indians out,” exclaimed Pani 
decisively. “The whole country is theirs. And 
there are so many of them. There are tribes and 
tribes all over the land. And they know how to 
fight.” 

“They are fighting each other continually. M. 
Hebert says they will sweep each other off after a 


CHANGING ABOUT 87 

while. And they are very cruel. You will see the 
French do not fight the French.” 

Alas, young Pierre Gaudrion, already Catholic and 
Huguenot were at war: one fighting for the right to 
live in a certain liberty of belief, the other thinking 
they did God a service by undertaking their exter- 
mination. 

The argument rather floored Pani, whose range of 
knowledge was only wide enough to know that many 
tribes were at bitter enmity with each other. 

“Do you want to work in the garden? There are 
weeds enough to keep you busy,” said Pierre pres- 
ently. 

“No,” returned Pani stoutly. 

“And Pani belongs to me,” declared Rose. 

Pierre turned to look at the girl. Her beauty stirred 
him strangely. Sometim.es, when his father sang the 
old songs of home, the same quiver went through every 
pulse. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a gentler tone. “Now I 
must go back to my chair.” 

“Is it to be a chair?” 

“I can’t weave the grasses just right, though some 
one showed me, only I was thinking of other things.” 

“Let’s see.” Pani was a little mollified. 

They went back to the boy’s work. 

“I’m only making a little one for Marie. Then I 
shall try a larger one. There are two in the room.” 

Yes, Rose knew them well. The place was about 


88 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


the same, with the great bunk on one side and the 
smaller one on the other. Mere Dub ray’s bright 
blankets were gone, with the pictures of the Virgin, 
and the high candlestick, that was alight on certain 
days. Little mattresses filled with dried grass were 
piled on top of the bunk. It looked like, and yet unlike. 
Rose was glad she did not live here. 

Pani inspected the boy’s work. 

‘‘Oh, you haven’t it right. You must put pegs in 
here, then you can pull it up. And this is the way you 
gor 

Pani’s deft fingers went in and out like a bit of 
machinery. It was forest lore^ and he was at home 
in it. 

“You make it beautiful,” exclaimed Pierre. “Oh, 
go slower, so I can understand.” 

Pani smiled with the praise and put in a word of 
explanation now and then. The boys were fast be- 
coming friends. 

“Maman,” Pierre cried, “come and see how fine the 
boy does it. If he would come and live with us !” 

“I might come a little while and look after the gar- 
den. And I could catch fish and I know the best places 
for berries, and the grapes will soon be ripening. And 
the plums. I can shoot birds with an arrow. But I 
belong to mam’selle.” 

“If she will let you come now and then,” wistfully. 

“Yes, I might,” with an air of condescension. 

“Thou art a pretty little lady,” was Mere Gaudrion’s 


CHANGING ABOUT 89 

parting benison to the little girl, and Rose smiled. 
“Come again often.” 

When they were out of the narrow passageway she 
said, “Now let us have a race. I am glad Mere Dubray 
is there no longer, are you not? But what a funny 
pile of children !” 

They had their race, and a climb, and on the gallery 
they found miladi looking for them, and they told over 
their adventure. 

“Yes,” she said smilingly. “I think we can find a 
place for Pani, and between us all I fancy we can keep 
him so well employed he will not want to run away.” 


CHAPTER VI 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 

About the middle of August the Sieur de Champlain 
and Captain Francois de Pontgrave sailed from Ta- 
doussac for France. The Giffards, Destournier, and 
several others accompanied them to the port, and were 
then to survey some of the places that had advantages 
for planting colonies. They did not return until in 
September. The season was unusually fine and warm, 
and there had been an abundance of everything. The 
colonists had been busy enough preparing for winter. 
They had learned ways of drying fruit, of smoking 
meats and fish, of caring for their grains. There had 
been no talk of Indian raids, indeed the villages about 
were friendly with the whites, and friendly with several 
of the outlying tribes. Some had gone on raids far- 
ther south. 

Madame Giffard would have found time hanging 
heavy on her hands but for the child. She began to 
teach her to read and to play checkers. Rose did not 
take kindly to embroidery, but some of the Indian 
work interested her. With Pani and Wanamee’s 
assistance she made baskets and curious vase-like jars, 
90 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


91 

Pierre Gaudrion came up now and then, and miladi 
considered him quite a prodigy in several ways. 

When they were dull and tired miladi gave Rose 
dancing lessons. The child was really fascinated with 
the enjoyment. Miladi would dress up in one of her 
pretty gowns to the child’s great delight, and they 
would invent wonderful figures. Sometimes the two 
men would join them, and they would keep up the 
amusement till midnight. 

Pani was growing rapidly and he was their most 
devoted knight. And when the snows set in there 
were great snowballing games ; sometimes between the 
Indians alone, at others, the whites would take a hand. 

It was splendid entertainment for the children to slide 
about on the snowy crust, that glistened in the sunlight 
as if sprinkled with gems. The Indian women often 
participated in this amusement. And miladi looked as 
bewitching in her deerskin suit, with its fringes and 
bright adornments of feather borders, and her lovely 
furs, as in her Paris attire. She often thought she 
would like to walk into some assembly and make a stir 
in her strange garments. 

What is the Sieur doing? Making new bargains, 
persuading colonists to join them, getting concessions 
to the profit of New France. Alas ! Old France was 
a selfish sort of stepmother. She wanted furs, she 
wanted colonies planted, she wanted explorations, and 
possessions taken in every direction, to thwart English 
and Dutch, who seemed somehow to be prospering, but 


92 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

the money supplies were pared to the narrowest 
edge. 

The little girl would have been much interested in 
one step her dear Sieur was taking, though she did 
not hear of it until long afterward. This was his 
betrothment and marriage to Marie Helene, the daugh- 
ter of Nicolas Boulle, private secretary to the young 
King. A child of twelve, and the soldier and explorer 
who was now forty or over, but held his years well and 
the hardships had written few lines on his kindly and 
handsome face. That he was very much charmed with 
the child, who was really quite mature for her age, 
was true, though it is thought the friendship of her 
father and her dowry had some weight. But she adored 
her heroic lover, although she was to be returned to the 
convent to finish her education. Then the Sieur made 
his will and settled a part of the dowry on his bride, 
and the income of all his other property, his maps and 
books, “in case of his death in voyages on the sea and 
in the service of the King.” 

If the autumn had been lovely and long beyond ex- 
pectations, winter lingered as well. And the travellers 
had a hard time on their return. Lofty bergs floated 
down the Atlantic, and great floes closed in around the 
vessel, and the rigging was encased in glittering ice. 
Sometimes their hearts failed them and the small boats 
were made ready, but whither would they steer ? Cap- 
tain Pontgrave kept up his courage, and “when they 
brought their battered craft into the harbor of Ta- 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


93 


doussac they fired a cannon shot in joyous salute/’ 
says history. Seventy-four days had their journey 
lasted. 

The country was still white with snow, although it 
was May. Already some trading vessels were bidding 
for furs, but the Montagnais had had a hard winter 
as well, and the Bay traders would have perished on 
the way. 

Champlain pushed on to Quebec, though his heart 
was full of fears. 

Rose was out on the gallery, that Pani was clearing 
from the frequent light falls of snow. A canoe was 
being rowed by some Indians and in the stern sat the 
dearly-loved Commander. “They have come! they 
have come!” shouted Rose, and she ran in to spread 
the joyful news. Destournier and Giffard were at a 
critical point in a game of chess, but both sprang up. 
The bell pealed out, there was a salute, and every one 
in the fort rushed out with exclamations of joy. For 
the sake of the little girl he had left, the Sieur stooped 
and kissed Rose. 

Du Parc was in the best of spirits, and had only a 
good account. There had been no sickness, no Indian 
troubles, and provisions had lasted well. All was joy 
and congratulations. Even the Indian settlements 
near by built bonfires and beat their drums, dancing 
about with every indication of delighted welcome. 

He had brought with him the young Indian Savi- 
gnon, while Etienne Brule had wintered with the Otta- 


94 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


was, perfecting himself in their language. He was a 
fine specimen of his race, as far as physique went, and 
his winter in civilization had given him quite a polish. 

There was a great feast. Miladi was in her glory 
ordering it, and Savignon paid her some compliments 
that quite savored of old times in her native land. She 
was fond of admiration, and here there was but small 
allowance of it. 

He was to restore the young brave to his tribe, and 
Destournier was to accompany him. He saw that with 
trade open to rivals there must be some stations. It was 
true no men could be spared to form a new colony, and 
the few he had induced to emigrate would do better 
service in the old settlement. In Cartier’s time there 
had been the village of Hochelega. It was a great 
stretch of open fertile land, abounding in wild fruits 
and grapes, so he pre-empted it in the name of the 
King, put up a stout cross, and built two or three log 
huts, and planted some grain seeds that might in turn 
scatter themselves around. And so began Montreal. 
The river was dotted with islands ; the largest, on which 
the wild iris, the fleur-de-lis, grew abundantly, he named 
St. Helene, in remembrance of his little betrothed. 

They pushed on beyond the rapids and here he met 
the Algonquins and restored their young brave to them, 
and was glad to find Etienne Brule in good health and 
spirits. But Savignon bade him farewell ruefully, de- 
claring life in Paris was much more agreeable, and 
spoiled one for the wilderness. 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


95 


Various bands of Hurons and Algonquins came to 
meet the great white Sagamore, and he secured much 
trade for the coming season. But the fur business was 
being greatly scattered, and Demont’s finances were 
at a rather low ebb, so there could not be the necessary 
branching out. 

Destournier had some schemes as well. He had 
come to the new world partly from curiosity and the 
desire to mend his fortunes. He saw now some fine 
openings, if he could get a concession or grant of land. 
His old family seat might be disposed of, he had not 
Laurent Giffard’s aim to make a fortune here and go 
back to France and spend it for show. 

Madame Giffard was deeply disappoined at this pros- 
pect, and Rose was inconsolable. 

^‘Who will read to us in the long evenings and the 
days when the driving snow makes it seem like night. 
And oh, M'sieu, who will dance with me and tell me 
those delightful stories, and laugh at my sayings that 
come like birds’ flights across my mind and go their 
way?” 

“You will have miladi. And there are the Gaudrion 
children. Pierre has a heart full of worship for you. 
And books that the Governor brought. The time will 
pass quickly.” 

“To you. There will be so many things. But the 
long, long days. And miladi says there ‘are so many 
pretty girls in Paris, whose dancing and singing are 
marvellous, and who would laugh at a frock of deer- 


96 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

skin. Oh, you will forget me, and all the time I shall 
think of you. You will not care.'' 

Her beautiful eyes were suffused with tears, the 
brilliance of her cheek faded, and her bosom heaved 
with emotion. What a girl she would be a few years 
hence. His dear Sieur had married a child — was he 
really in love with her? But his regard was fatherly, 
brotherly. 

'‘See," he began, “we will make a bargain. When the 
first star comes out you will watch for it and say, 
‘M'sieu Ralph is looking at it and thinking of me.' And 
I will say — ‘the little Rose of Quebec is turning toward 
me,' and we will meet in heart. Will not this comfort 
thee?" 

“Oh, I shall hug it to my heart. The star ! the star ! 
And when the sky is thick with clouds I shall remem- 
ber you told me the stars were always there. And I 
will shut my eyes and see you. I see strange things at 
times." 

“So you must not be unhappy, for I shall return," 
and he took her throbbing fingers in his. 

She raised her lovely eyes. What a charming co- 
quette she would make, if she were not so innocent. 
But the long fringe of lashes was beaded with tears. 

It was odd, he thought, but with all the admiration of 
her husband miladi made as great a time as the child. 
What should she do in this horrible lonely place, shut 
up in the fort all winter, with no company but an 
Indian woman and a child whose limited understand- 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


97 


ing took in only foolish pleasures. What miladi 
needed was companionship. Ah! if she could return 
to France. If Laurent would only consent. But now 
he thought only of fortune-making. 

“And a return at the end. He is not taking root 
here. I am. I like the boundless freedom of this new 
country/' said Destournier. 

“You will marry. There is some demoiselle at 
home on whom your heart is set. And the old friend- 
ship will go for naught. You have been — yes, like a 
brother," and she flushed. 

“No, I am not likely to marry," he returned gravely. 

“But — you will not return," in a desperate kind of 
tone. “You will be won by Paris." 

“I shall return. All my interests are here. And as 
I said — I shall leave my heart in this new country." 

Then she smiled, a little secure in the thought that 
she had no rival. 

So again the Sieur de Champlain set sail for France, 
and many a discourse he held with Ralph Destournier 
on the future of Quebec, that child of his dreams and 
his heart. It would be fame enough, he thought, to be 
handed down to posterity as the founder of Quebec, 
the explorer of the great inland seas that joining arms 
must lead across the continent. 

Miladi was very capricious. Rose found, although 
she did not know the meaning of the word. What 
she wanted to-day she scouted to-morrow. Rose’s 
reading was enough to set one wild. Sure she was not 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


98 

French-born, or she would know by intuition. Some- 
times she would say pettishly, “Go away, child, you dis- 
turb me,” and then Rose would play hide-and-seek with 
Pani, or run down to the Gaudrions. Marie was quite 
an expert in Indian embroidery, the children were gay 
and frolicsome, and there was a new baby. Pierre was 
very fond of her; a studious fellow, with queer ideas 
that often worked themselves out in some useful fash- 
ion. They read together, stumbling over words they 
could not understand. 

“And I shall build a boat of my own and go out to 
those wonderful rapids. At one moment it feels as if 
you would be submerged, then you ride up on top with 
a shout. Cubenic said the Sieur stood it as bravely as 
any Indian. Why — if your boat was overturned you 
could swim.” 

“But there's a current that sucks you in. And there’s 
a strange woman, a windigo, who haunts the rapids and 
drags you down and eats you.” 

“I don’t believe such nonsense. In one of the Sieur’s 
books there is a story of some people who believed 
there was a spirit in everything. There were gods of 
the waters, of the trees, of the winds, and the Indians 
are much like them. I’ve never found any of their 
gods, have you ?” 

“No” — rather reluctantly. “But Wanamee has. 
And sometimes they bring back dead people.” 

“Then they don’t always eat them,” and the boy 
laughed. 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


99 


She had meant to tell miladi of her tryst and beg her 
to come out and see the star, but when she found her 
not only indifferent, but fretful, she refrained and was 
glad presently that she had this delicious secret to her- 
self. But there was a great mystery. Sometimes the 
star was different. Instead of being golden, it was a 
pale blue, and then almost red. Was it that way in 
France, she wondered. 

She came to have a strange fondness for the stars, 
and to note their changes. Was it true that the old 
people M’sieu Ralph had read about, the Greeks, had 
seen their gods and goddesses taken up to the sky and 
set in the blue? There were thrones mounted with 
gems, there were figures that chased each other; to- 
night they were here, to-morrow night somewhere else. 
But the star that came out first was hers, and she sent 
a message across the ocean with it. And the star said 
in return, “I am thinking of you.’’ 

He did think of her, and tried to trace out some 
parentage. Catherine Defroy had gone from St. Malo, 
a single woman. Then by all the accounts he could find 
she must have spent two years in Paris. Clearly she 
was not mother of the child. 

After all, what did it matter ? Rose would probably 
spend her life in New France. If it was never proven 
that she came of gentlefolks, Laurent Giffard would 
hardly consent to his wife’s mothering her. He had 
a good deal of pride of birth. 

The winter passed away and this year spring came 


lOO 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


early, unchaining the streams and sending them head- 
long to the rivers ; filling the air with the fragrant new 
growth of the pines, hemlocks, and cedars, the young 
grasses, and presently all blossoming things. The 
beauty touched Rose deeply. No one understood, so 
she only talked of these strange things to the trees and 
the stars at night. Often she was a merry romp, climb- 
ing rocks, out in a canoe, which she had learned to 
manage perfectly, though sometimes Pani accompanied 
her, sometimes Pierre Gaudrion, who was growing 
fast and making himself very useful to Du Parc. 

As for the Sieur, he found much to engross his atten- 
tion. There was a new trading company that had the 
privilege of eleven years. There was another volume of 
voyages and discoveries, the maps and illustrations 
finely engraved. Then he had laid before the secre- 
tary of the King the urgent need of some religious in- 
struction. Acadia had quite a thriving Jesuit mission. 
This order was not in high favor with Champlain, who 
deprecated their narrowness. The Sieur Houel rec- 
ommended the Recollets, and four willing missionaries 
were finally chosen. The company had fitted up a large 
vessel and were taking all the stores they could pur- 
chase or beg, and quite a number of emigrants of a 
better class than heretofore. 

They were all warmly welcomed, and found the 
colonists in very good order. The enthusiastic priest 
startled them by kneeling on the soil and devoutly con- 
secrating it to God, and giving thanks that He had 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


lOI 


called them to this new and arduous field of labor. The 
coarse gray cassock girt at the waist with a bit of rope, 
the pointed hood, which often hung around their necks 
and betrayed the shaven crown, their general air of 
poverty and humility attracted attention, but did not so 
much appeal to the colonists or the Indians. They 
were fearful of the new order of things. 

Quebec had enlarged her borders somewhat. The 
one-roomed hut had spread out into two or three 
apartments. The gardens had increased. Some roads 
had been made, the workmen taking the stone quarried 
to add to their own houses. Still they received the 
fathers with a certain degree of cordiality. 

Champlain set aside ground for their convent, and 
they first erected an altar and celebrated Mass. Pere 
Dolbeau was the officiating priest. The people, most 
of whom came from curiosity, knelt around on the 
earth, while cannon from the ramparts announced the 
mystic services. The Giffards joined in them rever- 
entially, but Rose was full of wonderment. Indeed, 
her joy was so great at seeing Destournier again that 
she could give thanks for nothing else. 

Then they erected a rude hut and discussed the work 
that lay before them. Le Caron would go to the 
Hurons, Dolbeau to the Montagnais, Jamay and 
Du Plessis would take charge of Quebec and the out- 
lying provinces, and planned to build a chapel. 

Destournier had been successful with his grant. He 
bad been made seignior of a large tract outside of the 


102 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


town, which was destined one day to be a part of it. 
Here he settled some friendly Indians, and several of 
the newcomers, who were to till the soil under his direc- 
tions, and raise different crops to ward off the scarcity 
of rations in the winter. He would build a house for 
himself and live among them. 

'‘But why not remain in the fort?” asked miladi. 
“What charm can you find with those ignorant people ? 
Though perhaps peas and beans, radishes and cab- 
bages may console one for more intellectual pursuits.” 

“I shall only spend the days with them at present,” 
he returned, with a smile. 

And now again came the influx of the fur-traders. It 
had been a good season and from the new settlement of 
Montreal to Tadoussac, vessels were packing away the 
precious freight. Champlain had gone with a body of 
soldiers to help defend a town the Iroquois had threat- 
ened to attack. The missions thus far had borne no 
fruit. Indeed the new teaching of the Recollets in 
its severity was not pleasant. The Hurons were seized 
with a panic after losing several of their leaders and 
the Sieur was wounded. All winter the people at 
Quebec waited anxiously for their leader, and parties 
set out to see if they could find any tidings. At last 
they were sighted, and great was the joy at finding their 
beloved chieftain well and unharmed. But he was not 
allowed to remain long in his pet settlement. There 
were disputes and altercations, and he was summoned 
to France. 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


IC3 

‘"Another year we shall go ourselves,” announced 
Laurent Giffard to his wife. “We have enough now to 
make ourselves comfortable, and I doubt if the com- 
pany can weather through. At all events I shall be 
glad to be well out of it. Art thou glad of the pros- 
pect ?” 

“There is great commotion with the King and his 
mother, and between Huguenot and Catholic,” she 
made answer slowly. “Does the Sieur Destournier 
throw up his schemes in disgust as well ?” 

“Ah, I think he is wedded to the soil. The Gov- 
ernor trusts everything to him, and Du Parc, and both 
are capable men. But truth to tell I have lost faith in 
the colony. I hear the Virginians and the Bostonnais 
are doing much better. France cannot, or will not, 
spend the money, nor send the men to put the place on 
a sure foundation. The Indians grow more trouble- 
some. They hate being meddled with by the priests. 
They take wives when they want them, and send them 
away when they are tired of them. They torture pris- 
oners — some day the priests will have a taste of it 
themselves.” 

“They are all horrible,” she said, with a shiver. 

“And we will go back to La Belle France. I fancy 
I can manage a sort of preferment with Dubissay, who 
has the ear of the Queen mother at present. At all 
events I am tired of this turmoil, and thou, ma mie, art 
wasting thy beauty in this savage land.” 

He stooped and kissed her. If he had been ready 


104 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


last year, she would have hailed the prospect with de- 
light. Why did it not seem so attractive now ? 

''And the child ?” she asked presently, her eyes fixed 
on the floor. 

Was the tone indifferent? 

"How much dost thou love her, ma mie? At first 
thy heart was sore for the loss of our own, but time 
heals all such wounds. Destournier left no stone un- 
turned to discover her parentage, and failed. I think 
she has been some one’s love child. True we could give 
her our name, and with a good dowry she could marry 
well. But she will want some years of convent training 
to tone her down.” 

"And if we should leave her here? Though they 
say Miladi de Champlain comes over soon, and there 
may be a court with maids of honor.” 

He laughed. "What I fancy is this, though I am no 
seer. Destournier is fond of her, fatherly now, but she 
is shooting up into a tall girl. There will not be so 
many years between them as the Sieur and Mademoi- 
selle Boulle. And some day he will take her to wife. 
’Twere a pity to spoil the romance. She adores him.” 

Miladi bit her lip hard, and drew her brow into a 
sharp frown. 

"What nonsense!” she made answer. 

"Destournier is a fine fellow, and will be a rich one 
some day. 

"The more need that he should marry in his own 
station/’ 


FINDING AMUSEMENTS 


105 


‘‘But there is talk of reproducing home titles in this 
new land. And Baron Destournier can raise his wife 
to his own station. If the child should not be amenable 
to training, or develop some waywardness, there might 
be sorrow, rather 'than joy or satisfaction in thine 
heart.’^ 

“There will be time enough to consider,” she re- 
turned. 

He left the room. She went out on the shady side 
of the gallery, and looked down over the town. The 
two under discussion a moment ago were climbing the 
steep rocks instead of taking the path where steps were 
cut. The wind blew her shining hair about, her face 
was filled with ripples of laughter. He took her arm 
and she would have no help, but sprang like a deer 
from point to point, then turned to throw her merri- 
ment at him. 

“Yes, miladi would take her to France. What if 
some day he should follow?” 

The Governor spent a month in intense satisfaction, 
enlarging the borders of his pet garden, talking with 
M. Hebert, who had been watching the growth of 
some fine fruit trees imported from northern France, 
that had blossomed and were perfecting a few speci- 
mens of fruit. He thought sometimes it would be a 
joy to give up all cares and rest in cultivating the soil. 
If the summers were short everything grew abundant- 
ly. There were several rare plants, also, that they had 
acclimated. 


io6 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

^'Bring thy wife over and be content,” advised M. 
Hebert, in a cordial tone, ‘'and enjoy the governor- 
ship.” 

M. de Champlain laughed. But presently he said: 
^‘Friend, you little know the delights of an explorer 
who brings new countries to light, who builds cities 
that may continue after him. The route to India has 
not yet been located. The fields of gold and silver 
have not been discovered. The lilies of France have 
not been planted over there,” nodding his head. “We 
must go before the Spaniard gets a foothold. Yet 
there are delights I must confess that even Horace 
longed for — a garden.” 

But if he longed for it at times he found the restless 
current hurrying him on. Some disaffected members 
of the company were bringing charges against him, 
desiring to depose him from the governorship. But 
Conde, who had again come into power, knew there 
was not another man who would work so untiringly 
for the good of New France, or make it bring in such 
rich returns. 


CHAPTER VII 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 

The colony passed a very fair winter. It was in the 
latter part of April that one night an alarm was given 
and the big bell at the fort rang out its call to arms. 

The messenger had trudged through the snow and 
was breathless. 

^^An Indian attack. The Iroquois are burning the 
settlement, and murdering our people. To arms! to 
arms I” 

There had been no Indian raid for a long while. 
Destournier had tried to fortify the back of his plan- 
tation. There were Montagnais and Algonquins of the 
better type living there peaceably. It was not alto- 
gether cupidity. An Iroquois woman had been found 
cruelly murdered, and the wandering band laid it at 
once to the settlement. It took only a brief while to 
work themselves up to a frenzy. 

It did not take long to plan revenge. There was no 
chief at the head ; indeed, in these roving bands it was 
every brave for himself. And now after a powwow, 
since they were not large enough in numbers to at- 
tack the fort, and they found some of the Indian con- 
107 


io8 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

verts were in the new settlement, they determined on an 
onslaught. 

The barricade at the back was high and strong. It 
was not so well fortified on the side toward the fort, 
and they pushed through a weak place at the end, 
lighted their torches, and commenced a treacherous as- 
sault. Roused from their slumbers, and terrified to the 
last degree, the air was soon filled with shrieks, and 
bursting in doors, the houses were set on fire. They 
were wary enough to guard their loop-hole for escape, 
but they found themselves outnumbered, and in turn 
had to fight for their own lives. The blazing huts 
lighted up the snow in a weird fashion ; the shrieks and 
cries and jargon of the Iroquois added to the fright- 
fulness. Yet the struggle was brief. The enemy, find- 
ing themselves on the losing side, began to fly, pursued 
by the soldiers, and indeed, many of the inhabitants. 

Destournier roused at the first alarm, and Du Parc 
gave orders that were speedily obeyed. The citadel 
was in a glow of light and wild commotion. 

Giffard ran down the stone steps with his musket. 
Destournier barred his way. 

'‘Some of us have no wives,” he said briefly. “Go 
back and keep guard until we see what the dastardly 
attack means.” 

“There are wives and children in the settlement,” 
was the reply, but he paused while Destournier ran on. 
When he was out of sight, Giffard followed. 

The soldiers pursued the flying band, but they pres- 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 


109 

ently plunged into the woods and crept on stealthily, 
while the pursuers returned. The gray morning be- 
gan to dawn on the smoking ruin and the fitful blazes 
that the men were trying hard to extinguish with the 
snow. Destournier went from one to another. A few 
huts had not been disturbed, and crying women and 
children were crowding in them. Some bodies lay 
silent on the blood-stained snow. Destournier had 
taken great pride in the surprise he had thought to give 
the Governor on his return, and here lay most of his 
hopes in ruins. 

He gave orders that the wounded should be taken to 
the fort for treatment. It was a gratification to find 
two Iroquois dead, and when a soldier despatched a 
wounded one he made no comment. It was pitiful 
when the sun rose over the scene of destruction. 

‘'Still there could not have been a large body, or the 
carnage would have been more complete,’’ he said, with 
some comforting assurance. 

“You had better come in for some breakfast,” an 
officer remarked. “You look ghastly, and you are 
blood-stained.” 

He glanced down at his garments. “Yes,” he 
said, “I will take your advice. I want something 
hot to drink. And we must send some food over 
there.” 

Rose came flying in as he was demolishing a savory 
slice of venison. 

“Where is M. Giffard?” she cried. “Miladi is so 


no 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


frightened. She wants him at once. Oh, wasn’t it 
dreadful! Thank the saints you are safe!” 

“Giffard!” He had caught two or three glimpses 
of him in the melee. “He may be attending to the 
wounded. He is a brave fellow in an emergency. I 
must find him.” 

He swallowed the brandy and water and rushed 
down to the improvised hospital. A dozen or more 
were being fed and nursed by Wanamee and two other 
Indian women. The priest, too, was kindly exhorting 
courage and patience. Giffard was not here. No one 
had seen him. He ran over the crusty, but trodden- 
down snow, stained here and there with blood. The 
sun had risen gorgeously, and there was a decided 
balminess in the air. He glanced at the insides of 
the huts. The furry skins had not been good conduct- 
ors of flames, and the snow on the roofs had saved 
them. Beside the two dead Iroquois there was an 
Abenaqui woman and her child. In the huts that were 
intact, the frightened women and children had huddled. 
Some of the men were already appraising possible 
repairs. 

“They went this way,” announced an Algonquin, in 
his broken French. He had been employed about the 
fort and found trusty. 

The path was marked with blood and fragments of 
clothing, bags of maize, that they had dropped in their 
flight — finding them a burthen. Here lay an Iroquois 
with a broken leg, who was twisting himself along. 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 


III 


The Algonquin hit him a blow over the head with the 
stout club he carried. 

“He will not get much further,” he commented, as 
the Indian dropped over motionless. 

“Have you seen M. Giffard?” Destournier asked. 

'‘Non, non. The men came back.” 

“He is not at the fort.” 

“Shall we follow on ?” 

Destournier nodded. 

They heard a step crunching over the snow and 
waited breathlessly. 

It was Jacques Roleau they saw as he came in sight, 
one of the workmen at the fort. He gestured to them 
that all was right. 

“They have fled, what was left of them,” he ex- 
plained. “I despatched two wounded Iroquois that they 
had left behind. There are two of our men that they 
must have made prisoners, the M’sieu at the fort who 
has the pretty wife, and young Chauvin” — and he 
paused, as if there was more to say. 

“Wounded?” 

He shook his head sadly. 

“Dead?” Destournier's breath came with a gasp. 

“Both dead, M’sieu, but strange, neither has been 
scalped.” 

“Let us push on,” exclaimed Destoqrnier sadly. 

They followed the trail. After a short distance a 
body had been dragged evidently. Roleau led the 
way through a tortuous path until they came in sight 


II2 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


of a small vacant spot where sometime Indians had 
camped, as they could tell by the scorched and black- 
ened trees. A nearly nude body had been fastened to 
one and a few dead branches gathered, evidently for 
a fire. 

Destournier stood speechless. The head hung down, 
the face was unmarred, save for a few scratches, and 
he gave thanks for that. But his heart was heavy with- 
in him. The poor body had been stabbed and cut, yet 
it had not bled much, it seemed. 

He would have felt relieved if he had known the 
whole story. Two stalwart bucks had seized Giffard 
just beyond the settlement and hurried him along at 
such a pace that he could hardly breathe. They fas- 
tened his arms behind, each man grasping an elbow, 
and fairly galloped, until one of them caught his foot 
in a fallen tree and went down. In the fall Giffard’s 
temple struck against a stone that knocked him sense- 
less. He might have revived, but he was hurried along 
by a stout leathern thong slipped under the armpits, 
and was then dragged a dead weight. They had 
stopped for a holocaust and bound him to a tree, while 
they despatched the younger man. But there was diffi- 
culty in finding anything dry enough to burn, so they 
had amused themselves by gashing the dead body. 
Then suddenly alarmed they had plunged farther into 
the forest, leaving one of their own wounded that 
Roleau had finished. 

Giffard had been captured in a moment of incau- 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 


113 

tiousness, but the sights and the wantonness had fired 
his blood and roused a spirit of retaliation. 

They had nearly stripped both bodies, and carried off 
the garments. 

‘Tf you can manage, M’sieu,” exclaimed their guide, 
‘T will take the young fellow.” He stooped, picked 
him up, and threw him over his shoulder. 

‘‘You will find him a heavy burthen,” as the man 
staggered a little. 

‘T can carry. Do not fear,” nodding assurance. 

Destournier took off his fur coat and wrapped it 
about the poor body. Each took hold of the improvised 
litter and they commenced their melancholy journey. 
How could Madame Giffard stand it, for she really did 
love him. The man’s heart ached with the sincerest 
pity. 

They laid down their burthens inside the settlement 
in one of the partly destroyed cabins. Du Parc came 
thither to meet them. 

''Ah,” he exclaimed, "that fine young fellow who 
was going to be a great success. The company wanted 
him back in France. And his poor wife! The blow 
will kill her.” 

"I wished him to remain within for her sake. He 
was no coward, either. I would give the whole set- 
tlement if it would restore him to life. The Governor 
thought it an excellent, but venturesome plan. But 
we must have colonists if ever we are to make a town 
that will be an honor to New France.” 


114 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“It is not such a complete ruin. We have lost two 
men, one woman, and three children. Five Iroquois 
bodies have been found and two are badly wounded.” 

“And two more out in the woods. They had better 
be buried, so as to stir up no more strife. It could not 
have been a large party, or we would have suffered 
more severely.” 

“The English have had many of these surprises. I 
think we have been fortunate, even if we have fewer 
in numbers. And it would have been worse if there 
had been growing crops.” 

“I shall have the fortifications strengthened. And 
perhaps it would be well to keep guard.” 

They left Roleau in charge of the bodies and turned 
to the fort. The wounded had been made comfortable. 

Rose sprang down the steps to meet Destournier. 

“Oh, have you found him? Miladi is almost dead 
with grief and anxiety. She is sure they have killed 
M. Giffard.” 

“Poor wife! How will we tell her?” 

“Oh, then he is dead?” The child’s face was 
blanched with terror. 

“Yes, he has been killed by the cruel savages. But 
we have brought home his body. Who is with her?” 

“Wanamee and Madawando, who is saying charms 
over her. She is the medicine woman who brought 
back the Gaudrion baby when he was dead. Oh, can 
you not make her bring back M. Giffard? Miladi will 
surely die of grief. Couldn’t they put some one in his 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 


place? Wouldn’t the great God listen to the priest’s 
prayers?” and she raised her humid, beseeching eyes. 

“My child, you loved him dearly.” 

“Sometimes. Then he made me feel — well, as if I 
could run away. He was never cross. Oh, I think it 
was because he loved Miladi so very much, there was 
no room for any one else. And that is why I love you • 
so — because you have no one belonging to you.” 

“We are alike in that,” he made answer. 

He saw Wanamee presently. 

“She goes from one dying fit to another. Mada- 
wando brings her back. But if he is dead, M’sieu, why 
should they not let her join him?” 

Would she be happier in that great unknown land 
with him. What was there here for her? 

And some way he felt in part responsible. He had 
risked his life to save Destournier’s property. 

There were sad days in the fort. The weather came 
off comparatively pleasant, and the half-ruined huts 
were repaired, the wounded healed, the losses made 
good, as far as possible. The dead Iroquois were put 
in a trench, but better sepulture was provided for the 
colonists, and the services over the body of M. Giffard 
were in a degree military. The two Recollet priests 
were kindness and devotion personified, and they said 
prayers every hour in their rude little chapel, where a 
candle was kept burning before the altar. 

They frowned severely on what they termed the 
mummeries of Madawando. Even the Indian converts. 


ii6 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

and they were few' enough, lapsed into charms and 
incantations in times of trouble. They willingly had 
their children baptized, as if this was one of the charms j 
to ward off danger. But the priests labored with un- 
abated courage. 

Miladi seemed to hover a long while between the 
two worlds, it was thought, but the real spring was 
coming on, and all nature was reviving. She had 
never quite wanted to die, so at the lowest ebb she 
seemed to will herself back to life by some occult 
power. 

Rose meanwhile had run quite wild, but she had 
been Destournier’s companion in his walks, in his canoe 
journeys; sometimes with Marie Gaudrion, she was in 
and out of the settlement, and as she understood a little 
of the several Indian languages, she was quite a favor- 
ite; but Destournier felt troubled about her at times. 
She was very fearless, very upright, and detected the 
subterfuges of the children of the wilderness, condemn- 
ing them most severely. But they never seemed angry 
with her. 

Sometimes he thought he would send her to France 
and begin her education in a convent. But could the 
wild little thing who skipped and danced and sung, 
climbed rocks and trees, managed a canoe, tamed birds 
that came and sang on her shoulder, endure the dull 
routine of convent life? She could read French quite 
fluently. She had taken an immense fancy to Latin, 
and caught the lines so easily when Destournier read 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 


117 

them from musical Horace, or the stirring scenes of 
the Odyssey, the only two Latin books he owned. And 
her head was stuffed full of wild Indian tales. 

‘T wonder,” she said one day, as she sat on the rocks, 
leaning against Destournier’s knee, the soft wind play- 
ing through the silken tendrils of her hair — ‘T won- 
der if you should die whether I could be like miladi, 
and want the room dark and have every one go in the 
softest moccasins, and have headaches and the sound of 
any one’s voice pierce through you like a knife. It 
would be terrible.” 

^Why do you think of that?” 

^'Because I love you best of everybody. The Gov- 
ernor is very nice, but he is in France so much and you 
are here. Then we can climb rocks together and sit in 
the forests and hear the trees talk. I go to M. Giffard’s 
grave and say over the spells Madawando taught me, 
to bring him back, but he does not come. If he could, 
miladi would be bright and gay again, and we would 
dance and sing, and have merry times. If you died I 
should want to die, too.” 

He was touched by the child’s simple devotion. 

'T am not going to die. Your Madawando told me 
I should live to be very old. There were some curious 
lines in my hand.” 

'T am so glad,” she said simply. 

'‘But you had better not tell the good priest that 
you are trying to bring M. Giffard back to life in this 
Indian fashion. They think it a sin.” 


ii8 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

“I do not like the priests, in their dirty gray gowns, 
and their heads looking as if they had been scalped. 
Only when they read in their book. It sounds like 
those great people in the wars of Troy.’^ 

And this was a little Christian girl. Were not the 
priests also praying that the souls in purgatory might 
be lightened of their burden ? and he smiled. 

But somehow miladi pressed heavily upon his con- 
science. M. Giffard had come to his assistance, to save 
his property, as well as to save human lives. He lost 
sight of the great brotherhood of mankind, of the hero- 
ism of a truly noble soul. Was there anything he could 
do to lighten her burthen? 

At last she expressed a desire to see him. He had 
looked to find her wasted away with grief, changed so 
that it would be sorrow to look upon her. She was 
pale, but, it seemed, more really beautiful than he had 
ever known her. Her gown was white, and she had a 
thin black scarf thrown around her shoulders which 
enhanced her fairness. There could be no shopping 
for mourning in this benighted country. 

‘T thought I should go to him,” she said in her soft, 
half-languid voice. “But the good Pere believes there 
is something for me to do and that I must be content to 
remain, and thankful to live. But all is so changed. 
Sometimes I make myself believe that Laurent has 
gone back to France to settle matters. He counted so 
on our return. And that he will come again for me.” 

“You would like to go to friends?” 


JOURNEYING TO A FAR COUNTRY 


119 

‘'Alas, there are not many. Some have gone to Eng- 
land, some to Holland, not liking the new King’s policy. 
And some are dead. I should have no one to make a 
home for me. A woman’s loneliness is intense. She 
cannot turn to business, nor go out and find friends.” 

That was true enough. He pitied her profoundly. 

“Is it true our Governor is bringing his new wife to 
Quebec?” she asked presently. 

“So the trading vessels have said. They are already 
loading up with furs, and trade seems brisk. Of course 
it brings great confusion. I have taken charge of M. 
Giffard’s bales that came in last week. They had bet- 
ter be sent as usual. The Paris firm is eager for them. 
They are a fine lot. What is your pleasure ?” 

“Oh, relieve me of all care that you can. I am so 
helpless. Laurent did everything. Women were never 
meant for business, he thought. I am no wiser than 
a child.” 

She looked so helpless, so sweet, so dependent. 

“I shall be glad to do what I can. Yes, it would be 
no place for a woman. She could not manage matters. 
And if you like to trust me ” 

“I would trust you in all things. Laurent thought 
your judgment excellent. He cared so much for you. 
Oh, if you will take charge ” 

She looked up with sweet, appealing eyes. Did he 
not owe her some protection and care? He was pon- 
dering silently. 

“You have relieved me of such a burthen. I think 


120 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


I shall get well now. I hardly knew whether I wanted 
most to live or die.’' 

“Life is best, sweetest.” It would be for her. He 
uttered the sentence involuntarily. 

“You make it so.” Her eyes were bewitchingly 
downcast and a faint color fluttered over her face, 
while her pretty hands worked nervously. 

He paced the gallery afterward in the twilight, when 
the stars were slowly finding their way through the 
blue vault overhead, and the river plashed by with its 
monotone of music. She might desire to return to 
France; this life in the wilderness did not appeal to 
delicate women. Yet she had taken it very cheerfully, 
he thought. 

If she decided to stay — there was one way in which 
he could befriend her, perhaps make her happy again. 
Marriage was hardly considered the outcome of love 
in that period, many other considerations entered into 
it. There were betrothals where the future husband 
and wife saw each other for the first time. And they 
did very well. His ideas of married life were a sort of 
good-fellowship and admiration, if the woman was 
pretty ; good cooking and a desire to please among the 
commoner ones. At four and twenty he had not given 
the matter much consideration. Madame Giffard was 
full thirty, but she looked like a girl in her lightness 
and grace. And he owed the memory of M. Giffard 
something. This step would make amends and allay 
a troublesome sort of conscience in the matter. 


CHAPTER VIII 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 

Eustache Boull6, the Governor's brother-in-law, had 
been not a little surprised when his sister was helped 
off the vessel at Tadoussac. He greeted her warmly. 

“But I never believed you would come to this wild 
country,” he exclaimed, with a half-mischievous smile. 
“I am afraid the Sieur has let his hopes of the future 
run riot in his brain. He can see great things with that 
far gaze of his.” 

“But a good wife follows her husband. We have 
had a rather stormy and tiresome passage, but praised 
be the saints, we have at last reached our haven.” 

“I hope you will see some promise in it. We on the 
business side do not look for pleasure alone.” 

“It is wild, but marvellously fine. The islands with 
their frowning rocks and glowing verdure, the points, 
and headlands, the great gulf and the river are really 
majestic. And you — you are a man. Two years have 
made a wondrous change. I wish our mother could 
see you. She has frightful dreams of your being cap- 
tured by Indians.” 

He laughed at that. 

“Are the Indians very fierce here?’’ she asked tim- 
idly. 

I2I 


122 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


‘'Some tribes are, the Hurons. And others are very 
easily managed if you can keep fire-water away from 
them.” 

“Fire” — wonderingly. 

“Rum or brandy. You will see strange sights. But 
you must not get frightened. Now tell me about our 
parents.” 

The Sieur was quite angry when he heard some 
boats had been up the river, and bartered firearms and 
ammunition for peltries. It was their desire to keep 
the white man’s weapons away from the savages. 

Pontgrave had left a bark for the Governor, and 
Eustache joined them as they went journeying on to 
Quebec. It was new and strange to the young wife, 
whose lines so far had been cast in civilized places. 
The wide, ever-changing river, the rough, unbroken 
country with here and there a clearing, where parties 
of hunters had encamped and left their rude stone 
fireplaces, the endless woods with high hills back of 
them, and several groups of Indians with a wigwam 
for shelter, that interested her very much. Braves 
were spread out on the carpet of dried leaves, playing 
some kind of game with short knives and smoking 
leisurely. Squaws gossiping and gesticulating with as 
much interest as their fairer sisters, their attire new 
and strange, and papooses tumbling about. They 
passed great tangles of wild grapes that scented the 
air, here and there an island shimmering with the 
bloom of blueberries. 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


123 


Then the great cliff of Quebec came in sight. Latter- 
ly it had taken on an aspect of decay that caused the 
Governor to frown. The courtyard was littered with 
rubbish from a building that had actually fallen down, 
and a new one was being erected. And though some 
of the houses were quite comfortable within, the ex- 
terior was very unattractive, from the different ma- 
terials, like patches put on to add warmth in winter. 

The cannon rang out a salute, and the lilies of 
France floated in the brilliant sunshine. Officers and 
men had formed a sort of cordon, and from the gal- 
lery several ladies looked down and waved handker- 
chiefs. The Heberts, with their son and daughter, a 
few other women, a little above the peasant rank, had 
joined them and Madame Giffard, who still essayed a 
role of delicacy. 

The Sieur took formal possession again in the name 
of the new Governor General, the Duke of Montmo- 
rency. Then they repaired to the little chapel, where 
the priest held a service of thanksgiving for their safe 
arrival. 

The Recollets had chosen a site on the St. Charles 
river, some distance from the post, and had begun the 
erection of a church and convent, for headquarters. 
Madame Champlain was pleased to hear this and held 
quite a lengthy talk with Pere Jamay, who was glad 
to find the new wife took a fervent interest in religion, 
for even among the French women he had not awak- 
ened the influence he had hoped for, in his enthusiasm. 


124 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


Eustache began a tour of observation. Perched on 
a rock with a great hemlock tree back of her, he saw 
a small human being that he was quite sure was not 
an Indian girl. She was talking to something, and 
raised her small forefinger to emphasize her words. 
What incantation was she using? 

As he came nearer he saw it was a flock of pigeons. 
She had been feeding them berries and grains of rye. 
They arched their glossy necks and cooed in answer. 
He watched in amaze, drawing nearer. What sprite 
of the forest was this ? 

Did she feel the influence that invaded her solitude ? 
She glanced up with wide startled eyes at the intruder, 
and looked at first as if she would fly. 

“Do not be afraid, I will not harm you,” said a clear, 
reassuring voice. “Are you charming the wild things 
of the forest? Your incantation was in French — do 
they understand the language?” 

“They understand me.” 

There was a curious dignity in her reply. 

“You are French, Mam’selle?” 

“I came from France a long while ago, so long that 
I do not remember.” 

“Was it in another life? Are you human, or some 
forest nymph? For you are not out of childhood.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“But you must belong to some one ” 

“No,” she said proudly. “I have never really be- 
longed to any one. M’sieu Destournier is my good 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


125 


friend, and miladi took me when the Dubrays went 
to the fur country. But she has been ill, and she does 
not like me as she used.” 

“But you must have a home ” 

“I live at the post, mostly with Wanamee. Some days 
my lady sends for me. But I like out-of-doors, and 
the birds, and the blue sky, and the voice of the falling 
waters that are always going on, and the great gray 
rocks, where I find mossy little caves with red bloom 
like tiny papooses, and the tall grasses that shake their 
heads so wisely, as if they knew secrets they would 
never tell. And the birds — even some of the little 
lizards with their bright black eyes. They are dainty, 
not like the snakes that go twisting along.” 

“Are you not afraid of them?” 

“I do not molest them,” calmly. 

“You should have been down at the post. The Gov- 
ernor's wife has come.” 

“Yes, I saw her. And I did not like her. But the 
Sieur was always kind to me. He used to show me 
journeys on the maps, and the great lakes he has seen. 
He has been all over the world, I believe.” 

“Oh, no. But I think he would like to. Why do 
you not like Madame de Champlain ?” 

She studied him with a thoughtful gaze. 

“M’sieu Ralph told me when he went to France he 
was betrothed to a pretty little French girl, and that 
some day he would bring her here to be his wife. I was 
glad of the little girl. I like Marie Gaudrion, but she 


126 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

has to care for the babies and — she does not understand 
why I love the woods and the rocks. And I thought 
this other little girl ’’ 

She was so naive that he smiled, but it was not the 
smile to hurt one. 

“She was a little girl then. But every one grows. 
Some day you will be a woman.” 

“No, I will not. I shall stay this way,” and she 
patted the ground decisively with her small foot, the 
moccasin being little more than a sandal, and showed 
the high arch and shapely ankle that dimpled with the 
motion. 

“I am afraid you cannot. But I think you will like 
Madame when you know her. I am her brother, 
though I have not seen her for over two years.” 

She studied him attentively. The birds began to 
grow restless and circled about her as if to warn off 
the intruder. Then she suddenly listened. There was a 
familiar step climbing the rock. 

M’sieu Destournier parted the hemlock branches. 

“I thought I should find you here. Why did you 
run away? Ah, M. Boulle,” but the older man 
frowned a little. 

“She left the company because my sister was grown 
up and not the little girl she imagined. Is she a prod- 
uct of the forest? Her very ignorance is charming.” 

“I am not ignorant!” she returned. “I can read a 
page in Latin, and that miladi cannot do.” 

“She is a curious child,” explained Destournier, “but 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


127 


a sweet and noble nature, and innocent is the better 
word for it. The birds all know her, and she has a 
tame’ doe that follows her about, except that it will not 
venture inside the palisade. Fm not sure but she could 
charm a wolf.” 

^^The Loup Garou,” laughed the younger man. 

'T think nothing would dare harm her. But I 
should like my sister to see her. Oh, I am sure you 
will like her, even if she is a woman grown.” 

‘‘Come,” said Destournier, holding out his hand. 

The pigeons had circled wider and wider, and were 
now purplish shadows against the serene blue. Rose 
sprang up and clasped Destournier’s hand. But she 
was silent as they took their way down. 

“Whatever bewitched my august brother-in-law 
about this place I cannot see. Except that the new fort 
will sweep the river and render the town impregnable 
from that side. It will be the key of the North. 
But Montreal will be a finer town at much less cost.” 

» 

Rose was fain to refuse at the last moment, but 
M’sieu Ralph persuaded. The few women of any note 
were gathered in the room miladi had first occupied. 
Rose looked curiously at the daughter of M. Hebert — 
she was so much taller than she used to be, and her hair 
was put up on her head with a big comb. 

“Thou art a sweet child,” said Madame de Cham- 
plain. “And whose daughter may she be?” 

It was an awkward question. Destournier flushed 
unconsciously. 


128 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“She is the Rose of Quebec,” he made answer, with 
a smile. “Her parents were dead before she came 
here.” 

“Ah, I remember hearing the Governor speak of her, 
and learned that there were so few real citizens in 
Quebec who were to grow up with the town as their 
birthright. It is but a dreary-looking place, yet the 
wild river, the great gulf, the magnificent forests give 
one a sense of grandeur, yet loneliness. And my hus- 
band says it is the same hundreds of miles to the west- 
ward; that there are lakes like oceans in themselves. 
And such furs ! All Paris is wild with the beauty of 
them. Yet they lie around here as if of no value.” 

“You would find that the traders appraise them 
pretty well,” and he raised his brows a trifle, while a 
rather amused expression played about his eyes. 

“Is there always such a turmoil of trade?” 

“Oh, no. The traders scatter before mid-autumn. 
The cold weather sets in and the snow and ice are 
our companions. The small streams freeze up. But 
the Sieur has written of all these things in his book.” 

He looked inquiringly at her for a touch of enthu- 
siasm, but her sweet face was placid. 

“Monsieur my husband desired that I should be edu- 
cated in his religion in the convent. We do not take up 
worldly matters, that is not considered becoming to 
girls and women. We think more of the souls that 
may be saved from perdition. The men go ahead to 
discover, the priests come to teach these ignorant sav- 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


129 

ages that they have souls that must be returned to 
God, or suffer eternally.” 

There spoke the devotee. Destournier wondered a 
little how the Sieur had come to choose a devote for a 
wife. For he was a born explorer, with a body and 
a will of such strength that present defeat only spurred 
him on. But where was there a woman to match him, 
to add to his courage and resolve! Perhaps men 
did not need such women. Destournier was not an 
enthusiast in religious matters. He had been here 
long enough to understand the hold their almost 
childish superstitions had on the Indians, their dull 
and brutish lack of any high motive, their brutal and 
barbarous customs. They were ready to be baptized 
a dozen times over just as they would use any of their 
own charms, or for the gain of some trifle. 

Madame seemed to study the frank face of the little 
girl. How beautiful her eyes were ; her eager, intelli- 
gent, spirited face ; the fine skin that was neither light 
nor dark, and withstood sun and wind alike, and lost 
none of its attractive tints. But she was so different 
from the little girls sent to the nuns for training. 
They never looked up at you with these wide-open eyes 
that seemed to question you, to weigh you, 

‘There is no convent here where you can be taught ?” 
addressing herself to the child. 

“The fathers are building one. But it is only for 
the men. The women cook and learn to dress deer- 
skins until they are like velvet. They must make the 


130 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


clothingj for not a great deal comes from France. And 
it would only do for ladies like you and Madame Gif- 
fard.” 

'‘But there must be some education, some training, 
some prayers,” and the lady looked rather helpless. 

She was very sweet and beautiful in her., soft silken 
dress of gray, that was flowered in the same color, and 
trimmed with fur and velvet. From her belt depended 
a chain of carved ivory beads and a crucifix, from 
another chain a small oval looking-glass in a silver 
frame. Her flaring collar of lace and the stomacher 
were worked in pearls. Many Parisians had them 
sewn with jewels. 

“I can read French very well,” said Rose, after a 
pause. “And some Latin.” 

“Oh, the prayers, and some of the old hymns ” 

“No, it isn’t prayers exactly — except to their gods. 
There are so many gods. Jove was the great one.” 

“Oh, my child, this is heresy. There is but one God 
and the Holy Virgin, and the saints to whom you can 
make invocation.” 

“Well, then I think you have a number of gods. Do 
you pray to them all? And what do you pray for?” 

“For the wicked world to be converted to God, for 
them to love Him, and serve Him.” 

“And how do they serve Him?” inquired the child. 
“If He is the great God Father Jamay teaches He can 
do everything, have everything. It is all His. Then 
why does He not keep people well, so they can work, 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


and not blight the crops with fierce storms. Sometimes 
great fields of maize are swept down. And the little 
children die; the Indians kill each other, and at times 
the white men who serve them.’’ 

“Oh, child, you do not understand. There must be 
convents in this new world for the training of girls. 
They must be taught to pray that God’s will may be 
done, not their own.” 

“How would I know it was God’s will?” asked the 
irreverent child, decisively, yet with a certain sweetness. 

“The good Father would tell you.” 

“How would he know?” 

“He lives a holy life in communion with God.” 

“What is the convent like ?” suddenly changing her 
thoughts. 

“It is a large house full of little ones, the sisters’ cells, 
the novices’ cells ” 

“There are some at the post. They put criminals 
in them. They are filthy and dark,” with a kind of pro- 
testing vehemence. 

“These are clean, because they are whitewashed, and 
you scrub the floor twice a week. There is a little 
pallet on which you sleep, a prie-dieu ” 

“What is that?” interrupted the child. 

“A little altar, with a stone step on which you kneel. 
And a crucifix at the top, a book of prayer and invoca- 
tion. Many of the sisters pray an hour at midnight. 
All pray an hour in the morning, then breakfast and 
the chapel for another hour, with prayers and singing. 


132 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


After that the classes. The little girls are taught 
the catechism and manners, if they are to go out in 
the world, sewing and embroidery. At noon prayers 
again and a little lunch, then work out of doors for 
an hour, and running about for exercise, catechising 
again, singing, supper and a chapel hour, and then to 
bed. But the nuns spend the evening in prayer, so 
do the devout.’^ 

“Madame, I shall never go in a convent, if the 
Fathers build one for girls. I like the big out-of-doors. 
And if God made the world He made it for some pur- 
pose, that people should go out and enjoy it. I like the 
wilderness, the great blue sky, the sun and the stars 
at night, the trees and the river, and the birds and the 
deer and the beautiful wild geese, as they sail in great 
flocks. If I was shut up in a cell I should beat my head 
against the stones until it was a jelly, and then I should 
be dead.’’ 

Madame de Champlain looked at the child in amaze. 
In her decorous life she had known nothing like it. 

“And I wish there were no women. I do not like 
women any more. Men are better because they live out 
of doors and do not pray so much. Except the priests. 
And they are dirty.” 

Then she turned away and went out on the gallery, 
with a curiously swelling heart. Oh, why was not 
Marie Gaudrion different? What made people so un- 
like. If there was some one 


“Ha, little maid, where are you running to so fast ?” 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


133 


exclaimed a laughing voice. '‘Have you seen my sister 
yet?” 

Eustache Boulle caught her arm, but she shook him 
off, and stood up squarely, facing him. What vigor 
and resolution there was in her small bewitching face. 

“Hi, hi! thou art a plucky little iille, ready for a 
quarrel by the looks of thy flashing eyes. What have 
I done to thee, that thou shouldst shake me off as a 
viper ?” 

“Nothing! I am not to be handled roughly. I am 
going my way, and I think it will not interfere with 
thine.” 

A pleasant smile crossed his face which made him 
really attractive, and half disarmed her fierceness. 

“My way is set in no special lines until I return to 
Tadoussac. Hast thou seen my sister?” 

She nodded. 

“Every one loves her. She is as good as she is beau- 
tiful. And she will charm thee,” in a triumphant tone, 
gathering that the interview had not already done this. 

“I am not to be charmed in that fashion. Yes, she is 
beautiful, but she would like me to be put in a convent. 
And I would throw myself in the river first.” 

“There are no convents, little one. And but few peo- 
ple to put into them. In a new country it is best that 
they marry and have families. When there are too 
many women then convents play a useful part.” 

“Let me pass,” she cried disdainfully, but not trying 
to push aside, 


134 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“Tell me where you go!” 

“To Mere Gaudrion’s to see that soft-headed Marie. 
I wish she had some ideas, but she is good and cheer- 
ful, and does as she is told.” 

“You are not very complimentary to your friend.” 

“But if I said she had a bad temper, and told what 
was not true, and slapped her little brothers and sis- 
ters, that would be a falsehood. And if I said she 
understood the song of the birds and the sough of the 
wind among the trees, and the running, tumbling little 
streams that are always saying ‘oh 1 let me get to the 
gulf as soon as possible, for I want to see what a great 
ocean is like,’ it would not be true either. I like 
Marie,” calmly. 

“Thou art a curious little casuist. I am glad you like 
her. It shows that you are human. There are strange 
creatures in the woods and wilds of this new world.” 

“There is the Loup Garou, but I have not seen him. 
He gets changed from a man to a fierce dog, and if you 
kill the dog, the man dies. There is the Windigo, and 
the old medicine woman can call strange things out of 
a sick person who has been bewitched, and then he gets 
well. But M. Destournier laughs at these stories.” 

The young man had been backing slowly toward the 
steps and she had followed without taking note. 

Now he said — “Let me help you down.” 

“I am not lame, M’sieu, neither am I blind.” 

“Will you take me to see Marie Gaudrion?” 

“You would laugh at her, I see it in your eyes.’^ 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


135 


"‘Are my eyes such telltales?’' 

He had not the placid fairness of his sister, and his 
chestnut hair curled about his temples. His cheeks 
were red enough for a girl. 

“Why should you want to see her?” 

“I want to see all there is in Quebec. I want to 
know how the colony progresses. I may put it in a 
book.” 

“Like the Governor. But you could not make maps 
out of people,” with an air of triumph. 

“I’m not so sure. See here.” 

He drew from his pocket a roll and held one of the 
leaves before her eyes. 

“Oh, that is old Temekwisa sitting out by the hut. 
And, M’sieu, he looks half drunken, as he nearly 
always is. And that is Jacques Barbeau breaking stone. 
Why, it is wonderful. And who else have you?” 

There were several Indians in a powwow around the 
fire, there was a woman with a papoose on her back, 
and a few partly done. 

“And the Sieur — and your sister?” eagerly. 

“I have tried dozens of times and cannot please my- 
self. The Indians have about the same salient points, 
and that lack of expression when they are tranquil. 
They are easy to do. And I can sometimes catch the 
fierce anger. At home I would have a teacher. Here 
I have to go by myself, try, and tear up. Then I am 
busy with many other things.” 

Her resentment had mostly subsided. His gift, if it 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


136 

could be called that, fascinated her. She had repro- 
duced wonderful pictures in her brain, but to do them 
with her hand would be marvellous, like the Sieur 
writing his books. 

They had reached the garden of the Gaudrions. 
Pierre was employed regularly now and was study- 
ing the plans of the new fort. Marie was seated on 
the grass, cutting leather fringe for garments and leg- 
gings. You could use up otherwise useless bits that 
way. The Mere was farther down pulling weeds from 
the carrot bed, and directing the labors of two children, 
at whom she shook a switch now and then. Marie had 
a baby on each side of her, tumbling about in the grass. 

She looked up and nodded, while a heavy sort of 
smile settled about her lips, the upper one protruding a 
little, on account of two prominent teeth. Eustache 
had seen the peasant type at home, the low forehead, 
the deep-set eyes, the short nose, flattened at the base, 
the wide mouth and rather broad, unmeaning counte- 
nance, the type of women who bear burthens without 
complaining and do not resent when they are beaten. 
Marie had an abundance of blue-black hair, a clear 
skin, and a soft color in her cheeks. 

Boulle glanced from one to the other, the lithe fig- 
ure, the spirited face, the eyes that could flash and 
soften and sparkle with mirth almost in a minute, it 
seemed. What a distance lay between them. 

‘'Marie, this is’' — then Rose paused and flushed, 
and glanced at her unbidden companion. 


WHAT ROSE DID NOT LIKE 


137 


am Eustache Boulle and my sister is the wife of 
the Governor de Champlain. And though I have been 
up and down the river I have never really visited 
Quebec before.’’ 

Marie nodded and went on cutting fringe. 

^^And he has done pictures — Temekwisa, that you 
would know in a minute. He did them with a pencil. 
Show them to her,” she ordered, in a pretty peremptory 
manner, as with a graceful gesture of the hand she 
invited him to be seated on the grass, deftly rolling one 
baby over, who stared an instant, and then fell to suck- 
ing his fist. 

Marie’s heavy face lighted up with a kind of cheerful 
surprise. 

“Why did you not go up and see them come in? 
And after the service of thanks, almost everybody 
went to see our dear Sieur’s wife. She is beautiful in 
the face and wears a silken gown, and a little cap so 
fine you can see her hair through it. And she has 
small hands that look like snow, but not many rings, 
like Madame Giffard.” 

“Afa mhe went to the prayers, but we could not 
both go. I saw the line of boats and heard the salute. 
And your sister will live here with the Governor?” 

Eustache wanted to laugh, but commanded his 
countenance. 

“Yes, though ’tis a dreary place to live in after gay 
France. I long to go back.” 

“They are to build a new fort. My father will work 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


138 

on it, and my brother, Pierre. And he wonders that 
you do not come oftener, Rose.” 

“There has not been a moonlight in a long while. I 
cannot come in the dark. And now he wants his own 
way in all the plans and I like mine. He has grown 
so big he is not amusing any more.” 

“But he likes you just as well,” the girl said naively. 

Eustache glanced. Rose did not change color at 
this frank admission. 

Then the gun boomed out to announce the day’s work 
for the government was over. 

Rose sprang up. “It will soon be supper time,” she 
said. 

“Stay and have it with us. There are some cold 
roasted pigeons, with spiced gravy turned over them. 
You shall have a whole one.” 

“You are very good, Marie, but there are so many 
men about who have been drinking too much, that M. 
Destournier would read me a long lecture.” 

“But Pierre would walk up with thee.” 

Eustache had gathered up his pictures. They had 
only been an excuse to prolong his interview with 
Rose. 

“I will see that no harm comes to your friend. 
Adieu, Mam’selle,” and he bowed politely, at which 
Marie only stared. 

“We are very good friends, are we not?” as he was 
parting with the pretty child. 

“But I might not like you to-morrow,” archly. 


CHAPTER IX 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 

The new fort was begun on the summit of the cliff, 
almost two hundred feet above the water, and the 
guns would command it up and down. A good deal 
of stone was used. New houses were being reared in 
a much better fashion, the crevices thickly plastered 
with mortar, the chimneys of stone, with generous 
fireplaces. Destournier had repaired his small settle- 
ment and added some ground to the cultivated area. 

“The only way to colonize,’’ declared the Sieur. “If 
we could rouse the Indians into taking more inter- 
est. Civilization does not seem to attract them, 
though the women make good wives, and they are a 
scarce commodity. The English and the Dutch are 
wiser in this respect than we. When children are 
born on the soil and marry with their neighbors, one 
may be sure of good citizens.” 

The church, too, was progressing, and was called 
Notre Dame des Anges. Madame de Champlain was 
intensely religious, and used her best efforts to further 
the plans. She took a great interest in the Indian 
children, and when she found many of the women 
were not really married to the laborers around the 


139 


140 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


fort, insisted that Pere Jamay should perform the cere- 
mony. The women were quite delighted with this, 
considering it a great mark of respect. 

She began to study the Algonquin language, which 
was the most prevalent. She had brought three serv- 
ing women from France, but they were not heroic 
enough to be enamored of the hardships. There was 
so little companionship for her that but for her reli- 
gion she would have had a lonely time. The Heberts 
were plain people and hardly felt themselves on a 
par with the wife of their Governor, though Cham- 
plain himself, with more democratic tastes, used often 
to drop in to consult the farmer and take a meal. 

Madame Giffard was not really religious. She was 
fond of pleasure and games of cards, and really hated 
any self-denial, or long prayers, though she went to 
Mass now and then. But between her and the earnest, 
devoted Helene there was no sympathy. 

The new house was ready by October. Helene 
would fain have had it made less comfortable, but 
this the Governor would not permit. It would be hung 
with furs when the bitter weather came in. 

No one paid much attention to Rose, who came and 
went, and wandered about at her own sweet will. 
Eustache Boulle was fairly fascinated with her, and 
followed her like a shadow when he was not in attend- 
ance on his sister. He persuaded her to sit for a 
picture, but it was quite impossible to catch her elusive 
beauty. She would turn her head, change the curve 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


141 

of her pretty lips, allow her eyes to rove about and 
then let the lids drop decorously in a fashion he called 
a nun’s face ; but it was adorable. 

“I shall not be a nun,” she would declare vehe- 
mently. 

“No, Mam’selle, thou art the kind to dance on a 
man’s heart and make him most happy and most 
wretched. No nun’s coif for that sunny, tangled mop 
of thine.” 

He would fain have lingered through the winter, but 
a peremptory message came for him. 

“I shall be here another summer and thou wilt be 
older, and understand better what life is like.” 

“It is good enough and pleasant enough now,” she 
answered perversely. 

“I wonder — if thou wilt miss me?” 

“Why, yes, silly! The splendid canoeing and the 
races we run, and I may be big enough next summer 
to go to Lachine. I would like to rush through the 
rapids that Antoine the sailor tells about, where you 
feel as if you were going down to the centre of the 
world.” 

“No woman would dare. It would not be safe,” 
he objected. 

“Men are not always lost, only a few clumsy ones. 
And I can swim with the best of them.” 

“M. Destournier will not let you go.” 

“He is not my father. I belong just to myself, and 
I will do as I like.” 


142 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


She stamped her foot on the ground, but she laughed 
as well. He was not nineteen yet, but a man would 
be able to manage her. 

She did miss him when he was gone. And it seemed 
as if Marie grew more stupid and cared less for her. 
And that lout of a Jules Personeau would sit by her 
on the grass, or help her pick berries or grapes and 
open them skilfully, take out the seeds or the pits 
of plums, and place them on the flat rocks to dry. 
He never seemed to talk. And Rose knew that M. 
Destournier scolded because he was not breaking 
stone. 

He was building a new house himself, and help- 
ing the Sieur plan out the path from the fort up above 
to the settlement down below. They did not dream 
that one day it would be the upper and the lower town, 
and that on the plain would be fought one of the his- 
toric battles of the world, where two of the bravest 
of men would give up their lives, and the lilies of 
France go down for the last time. Quebec was begin- 
ning to look quite a town. 

Destournier's house commanded his settlement, 
which was more strongly fortified with a higher pali- 
sade, over which curious thorn vines were growing 
for protection. He had a fine wheat field, and some 
tobacco. Of Indian corn a great waving regiment 
planted only two rows thick so as to give no chance 
for skulking marauders. 

The house of M. Giffard was falling into decay. 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


143 


Miladi had sent to France early in the season for 
many new stuffs and trinkets, and the settlement of 
some affairs, instead of turning all over to Destour- 
nier. The goods had come at an exorbitant price, 
but there had been a great tangle in money matters, 
and at his death his concessions had passed into other 
hands. 

^‘They always manage to rob a woman, he thought 
grimly. 

'T supposed you were to leave things in my hands,” 
he said, a little upbraidingly, to her. 

‘T make you so much trouble. And you have so 
much to do for the Governor and your settlement, 
and I am so weak and helpless. I have never been 
strong since that dreadful night. I miss all the care 
and love. Oh, if you were a woman you would know 
how heart-breaking it was. I wish I were dead! I 
wish I were dead I” 

''And you do not care to- go back to France?” 

"Do not torment me with that question. I should 
die on the voyage. And to be there without friends 
would be horrible. I have no taste for a convent.” 

A great many times the vague plan had entered his 
mind as a sort of duty. Now he would put it into 
execution. 

"Become my wife,” he said. He leaned over and 
took her slim hands in his and glanced earnestly into 
her eyes, and saw there were fine wrinkles setting 
about them. What did it matter? She needed pro- 


144 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


tection and care, and there was no woman here that 
he could love as the romances described. He was too 
busy a man, too practical. 

She let her head drop on his broad breast. She 
had dreamed of this and used many little arts, but had 
never been sure of their effect. There were the years 
between, but she needed his strength and devotion 
more than a younger woman. 

''Oh, ought I be so happy again?” she murmured. 
"There is so much that is strong and generous to you 
that a woman could rest content in giving her whole 
life to you, her best love.” 

He wished she had not said that. He would have 
been content that her best love should lie softly in the 
grave, like an atmosphere around the sleeping body o f 
Laurent Giffard, whom he had admired very much, 
and who had loved his wife with the fervor of youth. 
He drew a long breath of pity for the man. It seemed 
as if he was taking something away from him. 

"Is it true ?” she asked, in a long silence. 

"That I shall care for you, yes. That you will be 
my wife.” Then he kissed her tenderly. 

"I am so happy. Oh, you cannot think how sad I 
have been for months, with no one to care for me,” and 
her voice was exquisitely pathetic. 

"I have cared for you all this while,” he said. "You 
were like a sister to whom I owed a duty.” 

"Duty is not quite love,” in her soft murmurous 
tone, touching his cheek caressingly. 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


M5 

He wondered a little what love was like, if this tran- 
quil half pity was all. Madame de Champlain was 
like a child to her husband, the women emigrants thus 
far had not been of a high order, and the marriages 
had been mostly for the sake of a helpmeet and possi- 
ble children. The Governor had really encouraged 
the mixed marriages, where the Indian women were 
of the better sort. A few of them were taking kindly 
to religion, and had many really useful arts in the 
way of making garments out of dressed deerskins. 
He cRose rather some of those who had been taken 
prisoners and had no real affiliation with the tribes. 
They felt honored by marrying a white man, and now 
Pere Jamay performed a legal and religious ceremony, 
so that no man could put away his wife. 

“Oh, what do you think \” and Rose sprang eagerly 
to Destournier, catching him by the arm with both 
hands and giving a swing, as he was pacing the gal- 
lery, deep in his new plans. “It is so full of amuse- 
ment for me. And I can’t understand how she can 
do it. Jules Personeau is such a stupid! And that 
great shock of hair that keeps tumbling into his eyes. 
It is such a queer color, almost as if much sitting in the 
sun was turning it red.” 

“What about Jules? He is very absent-minded 
nowadays, and does not attend to his work. The sum- 
mer will soon be gone.” 

“Oh, it isn’t so much about Jules. Marie Gaudrion 
is going to marry him.” 


146 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

“Why, then I think it is half about Jules/’ laughing 
down into the eager face. “A girl can’t be married 
alone.” 

“Well, I suppose you would have to go and live .with 
some one,” in a puzzled tone. “But Jules has such 
rough, dirty hands. He caught me a few days ago 
and patted my cheek, and I slapped him. I will not 
have rough hands touch me ! And Marie laughs. She 
is only thirteen, but she says she is a woman. I don’t 
want to be a woman. I won’t have a husband, and 
be taken off to a hut, and cook, and work in the garden. 
M’sieu, I should fly to the woods and hide.” 

“And the poor fellow would get no dinner.” He 
laughed at her vehemence. “I suppose Jules is in love 
and we must excuse his absent-mindedness. Will it 
be soon?” 

“Why, yes, Jules is getting his house ready. Barbe 
is to help her mother and care for the babies. I like 
Marie some,” nodding indecisively, “but I wish there 
was a girl who liked to run and play, and climb trees, 
and talk to the birds, and oh, do a hundred things, all 
different from the other.” 

She gave a little hop and a laugh of exquisite free- 
dom. She was full of restless grace, as the birds 
themselves; her blooming cheeks and shining eyes, 
the way she carried her head, the face breaking into 
dimples with every motion, the mouth tempting in its 
rosy sweetness. He bent and kissed her. She held 
him a moment by the shoulders. 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


M7 

‘'Oh, I like you, I like you,” she cried. “You are 
above them all, you have something,” — her pretty brow 
knit, — “yet you are better than the Sieur even, the best 
of them all. If you will wait a long while I might 
marry you, but no other, no other,” shaking her curls. 

He laughed, yet it was not from her naive confes- 
sion. She did not realize what she was saying. 

“How old am I?” insistently. 

“About ten, I think.” 

“Ten. And ten more would be twenty. Is that 
old?” 

“Oh, no.” 

“And Madame de Champlain was twelve when she 
was married in France. Well, I suppose that is right. 
And — two years more! No, M’sieu, I shall wait 
until I am twenty. Maybe I shall not want to climb 
trees then, nor scramble over rocks, nor chase the 
squirrels, and pelt them with nuts.” 

“Thou wilt be a decorous little lady then.” 

“That is a long way off.” 

“Yes. And Wanamee is calling thee.” 

“The priest says we must call her Jolette, that is 
her Christian name. Must I have another name? 
Well, I will not. Good-night,” and away she ran. 

He fell into rumination again. What would she 
say to his marriage? He had a misgiving she would 
take it rather hardly. She had not been so rapturous- 
ly in love with miladi of late, but since the death of 
her husband, the rather noisy glee of the child had 


148 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

annoyed her. She would be better now. Of course 
they would keep the child, she had no other friends, 
nor home. 

Marie Gaudrion’s marriage was quite a mystery to 
Rose. That any one could love such an uncouth fel- 
low as Jules, that a girl could leave the comfortable 
home and pretty garden, for now the fruit trees had 
grown and were full of fragrant bloom in the early 
season, and the ripening fruit later on, and go to that 
dismal little place under the rocks. 

‘‘You see it will be much warmer,” Jules had said. 
It was built against the rock. “This will shield us 
from the north wind and the heavy snows, and 
another year we will take a place further down in the 
allotment. I will lay in a store of things, and we will 
be as happy as the squirrels in their hollow tree.” 

Marie and her mother cleared it up a bit. The 
floor was of rough planks filled in with mortar, and 
skins were laid down for carpet. There was but one 
window looking toward the south, and the door was on 
that side also. Then a few steps and a sort of 
plateau. Inside there was a box bunk, where the 
household goods were piled away inside. A few 
shelves with dishes, a table, and several stools com- 
pleted the furnishing. 

So on Sunday they went up to the unfinished 
chapel on the St. Charles, where a Mass was said, and 
the young couple were united. It was a lovely day, 
and they rowed down in the canoes to the Gaudrions, 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


149 


where a feast was given and healths drank to the 
newly-wedded couple, in which they were wished much 
happiness and many children. The table was spread 
luxuriously; the Mere had been two days cooking. 
Roasts and broils, game and fish, and many of the 
early fruits in preserve and just ripened. Sunday 
was a day for gorging in this primitive land, while 
summer lasted. No one need starve then. 

Afterward the young couple were escorted home. 

Rose sat out in the moonlight thinking of the 
strangeness of it all. How could Marie like it? Mere 
Gaudrion had said, will make a good husband, 

if he is clumsy and not handsome. He will never beat 
Marie, and now he will settle to work again, and make 
a good living, since courting days are over.” 

The child wondered what courting days were. 
Several strange ideas came into her mind. It was as 
if it grew suddenly and there were things in the 
world she would like to know about. Perhaps M. 
Ralph could tell her. Miladi said she was tiresome 
when she asked questions, and there was always a 
headache. Would her head ache when she was grown 
up? And she stood in curious awe of Madame 
de Champlain, who would only talk of the saints and 
martyrs, and repeat prayers. She was very attrac- 
tive to the children, and gathered them about her, 
letting them gaze in her little mirror she carried at 
her belt, as was the fashion in France. They liked 
the touch of her soft hand on their heads, they were 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


ISO 

sometimes allowed to press their tawny cheeks against 
it. Then she would try to instruct them in the Cate- 
chism. They learned the sentences by rote, in an eager 
sort of way, but she could see the real understanding 
was lacking. 

'Tt seems an almost hopeless task,” she said one day 
to Pere Jamay. “And though the little girls in the 
convent seemed obtuse, they did understand what de- 
votion was. These children would worship me. When 
I talk of the blessed Virgin they are fain to press their 
faces to the hem of my gown, taking it to mean that 
I am our dear Lady of Sorrows. Neither do they 
comprehend penance, they suppose they have offended 
me personally.” 

“ ’Tis a curious race that God has allowed to sink 
to the lowest ebb, that His laborers should work the 
harder in the vineyard. I do not despair. There will 
come a glorious day when every soul shall bow the 
knee to our blessed Lord. The men seem incapable 
of any true discernment of holy things. But we must 
not weary in well-doing. Think what a glorious thing 
it would be to convert this nation to the true faith.” 

The lady sighed. Many a day she went to her prie- 
dieu not seven times, but twice that, to pray for their 
conversion. 

“We must win the children. They will grow up 
with some knowledge and cast aside their supersti- 
tions. We must be filled with holy zeal and never 
weary doing our Master’s will.” 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


She had tried to win Rose, as well as some of the 
more intelligent half-breeds. But prayers were weari- 
some to the child. And why should you ask the same 
thing over and over again ? Even M. Destournier, she 
had noticed, did not like to be importuned, and why 
then the great God, who had all the world to care for, 
and sent to His creatures what He thought best. 

The child looked out on the wide vault so full of 
stars, and her heart was thrilled with the great mys- 
tery. What was the beautiful world beyond that was 
called heaven? What did they know who had never 
seen it ? The splendor of the great white moon — mov- 
ing majestically through the blue — touched her with a 
sort of ecstasy. Was it another world? And how 
tenderly it seemed to touch the tree tops, silvering the 
branches and deepening the shadows until they were 
haunts of darkness. Did not other gods dwell there, 
as those old people in the islands on the other side of 
the world dreamed? Over the river hung trailing 
clouds of misty sheen, there was a musical lapping 
of the waves, the curious vibration of countless 
insects — now the shrill cry of some night bird, then 
such softness again that the world seemed asleep. 

'‘Ma aile, ma Ulle” and the half-inquiring accent of 
Wanamee’s voice fell on her ear. 

“I am here. It is so beautiful. Wanamee, did you 
ever feel that you must float away to some other 
world and learn things that seem to hover all about 
you, and yet you cannot grasp ?’^ 


152 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


^^You cannot, child, until you are admitted to the 
company of the saints. And this life is vei-y comfort- 
able, to some at least. Thou hast no trouble, little 
one. But it is time for the bed.” 

‘'Why can I not sleep out here? The Indians sleep 
under the tree. So has M’sieu Ralph, and the Gov- 
ernor. Oh, I should like to and have just that great 
blue sky and the stars over me.” 

“They would not show under the tree branches. 
And there are wolves and strollers that it would not 
be safe to see at this time of the year, when there are 
so many drunken traders. So come in, child.” 

She rose slowly. A little room in the end of the 
Giffard house was devoted to her and Wanamee. Two 
small pallets raised a little above the floor, a stand with 
a crucifix, that the Governor’s wife insisted was nec- 
essary, a box, in which winter bedding was stored, 
and that served for a seat, completed the simple furni- 
ture. 

Rose knelt before the stand. There were two or 
three Latin prayers she often said aloud, but to-night 
her lips did not move. This figure on the cross filled 
her with a kind of horror just now. 

“Mam’selle,” said the waiting Wanamee. 

The child rose. “You must pray for yourself to- 
night,” she said in a soft voice, throwing her pliant 
body on the pallet. “I do not understand anything 
about God any more. I do not see why He should 
send His Son to die for the thousands of people who 


ABOUT MARRIAGES 


153 

do not care for Him. The great Manitou of the In- 
dians did not do it.” 

“Ma Me, ask the priest. But then is it necessary to 
ask God when we have only to believe?” 

‘T am afraid I don’t even believe,” was the hesitat- 
ing reply. 

“Surely thou art wicked. There will be penance 
for thee.” 

“I will not do penance either. You are cruel if you 
torture dumb animals, and it is said they have not the 
keen feeling of humans. I am not sure. But where 
one thinks of the pain or punishment he is bearing it 
is more bitter. And what right has another to inflict 
it upon you?” 

Wanamee was silent. She would ask the good 
priest. But ah, could she have her darling punished ? 


CHAPTER X 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 

‘'But what are you to do with this nice house ? Why, 
the Governor’s is hardly better. Will you live here 
and not at the post? And how pretty the furnishings 
are?” 

Rose’s face was wreathed in smiles, and the dimples 
played hide-and-seek in a most entrancing manner. 

“Yes, I am to live here. And you, and Wanamee, 
and Nugava, and ” 

She clapped her hands and jumped up and down, 
she pirouetted around with grace and lightness that 
would have enchanted the King of La Belle France. 
Where did she get this wonderful harmony of move- 
ment. His eyes followed her in admiration. She 
paused. “And what part is to be given to me ?” 

“This. And Wanamee will have the room between, 
to be within call.” 

His cheek flushed. How was he to get his secret 
told? 

“And this will be yours, M’sieu. I know it on ac- 
count of the books. And I can come in here and you 
shall teach me to read some of the new things. I have 
been very naughty and lazy, have I not. But in the 
154 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 


*55 

winter one cannot roam about. Oh, how delightful it 
will be !” 

She looked up out of such clear, happy eyes. How 
could he destroy her delight — he knew it would. 

^‘There will be some one else here,” he began. 

‘‘Not Pere Jamay. He is with Madame a good deal. 
I do not like his sour face when he frowns upon me. 
And — oh, you will not have me sent to France and 
put in a convent. I would kill myself first.” 

“No, no. It is not the priest. I am not over in love 
with him myself. It is some one sweet and pretty, and 
that you love ” 

“That I love” — wonderingly. 

He took both her hands in his. 

“Rose,” with tender gravity, “I am going to marry 
Madame Giffard.” 

She stiffened up and looked straight at him, the 
glow on her cheek fading to marble paleness. 

^'Petite, you did love her dearly. You will love 
her again for my sake. No, you shall not go away in 
this angry mood. Do you not wish rhe to be happy?” 

“Miladi belongs to her husband, who is dead. When 
she goes to heaven he will be there, and you two — well, 
one must give up. Do you not remember that Osaka 
murdered his wife because she went away from him 
and married another brave ?” 

He was amused at her passion. 

^‘I will give her up then. It is only for this life. 
And she needs some one to care for her. Why are you 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


156 

vSO opposed to it, when you used to love her ? She will 
be like a mother to you.” 

‘T do not want any mother,” proudly. '^And she 
does not love me now. Oh, one can feel it just like 
a blast of unfriendly wind. And when she has you 
she will not’ care for any one else.” 

“But I can care for you both. You know you be- 
long to me. And sometime, when new people cross 
the ocean, some brave, fine young fellow will love you 
and want to marry you.” 

“I will not marry him.” 

“Oh, my little girl, be reasonable. We shall all be 
happy here together. And you will grow up to 
womanhood and learn many things that will please 
you and be of great service. And will go to France 
some day ” 

“I will not go anywhere with her. Unclasp my 
hands. I do not belong to you any more, to no one, I 
am 

She burst into a passion of weeping. In spite of her 
struggles he clasped her to his heart and kissed the 
throbbing temples, that seemed as if they would burst. 

“Oh, Rose, my little one, whom I love as a child, 
and always shall love, listen to me and be comforted.” 

“She will not let you love me. She will want me to 
be sent to France and be put in a convent. Father 
Jamay said that was what I needed. Oh, you will see !” 

The sobs seemed to rend her small body. He could 
feel the beating of her heart and all his soul was 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 


157 

moved with pity, although he knew her grief was un- 
reasonable. 

^‘And you are willing to make me very unhappy, to 
spoil all my pleasure in the new home. Oh, my child, 
I hardly thought that of you.” 

She made another struggle and freed herself. She 
stood erect, it seemed as if she had grown inches. 
“You may be happy with her,” she said, with a dignity 
that would have been amusing if it had not been sad, 
and then she dashed out of the room. 

He sat down and leaned his elbow on the table, his 
head on his hand. He had gathered from several 
things miladi had suggested, that she was rather in- 
different to the child, but he did not surmise that Rose 
had felt and understood it. No one had a better right 
than he, since in all probability her parentage would 
remain unknown. He would not relinquish her. She 
should be a daughter to him. He realized that he 
had a curious love for the child, that she had attracted 
him from the first. In the years to come her beauty 
and winsomeness would captivate a husband, with the 
dowry he could give her. 

For several days he saw very little of her. He was 
busy and miladi was exigent. Rose wandered about, 
sometimes to the settlement, watching the busy women 
dressing skins, making garments, cutting fringes, and 
embroidering wampum for the braves. The tawny 
children played about, the small papooses, strapped in 
their cases of bark, blinked and occasionally uttered 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


158 

wearisome cries. Or she rowed about in her canoe, 
often with Pani, for the river current was rather 
treacherous. Then she scudded through the woods 
like a deer, winding in and out of the stately columns 
that were here silver-gray, there white; beech and 
birch, dark hemlocks, that not having space to branch 
out, grew up tall with a head almost like a palm. In- 
sects hummed and shrilled, or whirred like a tiny or- 
chestra. Now and then a bird flung out a strain of 
melody, squirrels ran about, and the doe came and 
put its nose in her hand. She had tied a strip of skin, 
colored red, about its neck, that no one might shoot 
it. The rich, deep moss cushioned the ground. Occa- 
sionally an acorn fell. She would sit here in dreamy 
content by the hours, often just enjoying, sometimes 
puzzling her brains over all the mysteries that in the 
years to come education would solve. So few could 
read, indeed books were only for the few. 

Then she ran up and down the rocks, hid in the 
nooks, came out again in dryad fashion. She had 
been wont to laugh and make echoes ring about, but 
now her heart, in spite of all she could do, was not 
light enough for that. Wanamee was sore troubled 
by her reticence, for she was too proud to make any 
complaint. Indeed, she did not know what to com- 
plain of. In her childish heart everything was vague, 
she could not reason, she could only feel that some- 
thing had been snatched out of her life and set in 
another’s. She would henceforth be lonely. 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 


159 


“Miladi wants to see you/’ said Wanamee one 
morning. “She wonders why you do not run in as 
you used. And she has something joyful to tell 
you.” 

Rose shut her lips tightly together and stamped 
on the* floor. 

“Oh, ma petite, you have guessed then! Or, per- 
haps M’sieu told you. Miladi is to marry him, and 
they are to go to the nice new house he is building. 
They are to take you and me and Pani. And he will 
have the two Montagnais, who have been his good 
servants. We shall get out of this old, tumble-down 
post station, and be near the Heberts. Then M’sieu is 
getting such a nice big wheat field and garden.” 

Rose was drawing long breaths. She would not 
cry or utter a complaint. Wanamee approached her, 
holding out both hands. 

“Do not touch me,” she entreated, in a passionate 
tone. “Do not say anything more. When I am a lit- 
tle tranquil I will go and see her. I know what she 
wants me to say — that I am glad. There is something 
just here that keeps me from being glad,” and she 
pressed her hands tightly over her heart. “I do not 
know what it is.” 

“Surely you are not jealous of miladi? They are 
grown-up people. And M’sieu told her yesterday — 
I heard them talking — that you were to be a child to 
them, that they would both love you. Miladi has been 
irritable, and not so gay as she used, but she is bet- 


i6o A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

ter now, and will soon be her olden self. She was 
very nice and cheerful this morning, and laughed with 
the joy of other days. Oh, child, do not disturb it by 
any tempers.” 

Wanamee’s eyes were soft and entreating. 

“Oh, you need not fear,” the child exclaimed, proud- 
ly. “Now I will go.” 

She tapped at miladi’s door, and a very sweet yoice 
said — “Come, little stranger.” 

She opened it. Miladi was sitting by the small case- 
ment window, in one of her pretty silken gowns, long 
laid by. There was a dainty rose flush on her cheek, 
but the hand she held out was much thinner than of 
yore, when in the place of knuckles there were dim- 
ples. 

“Where have you been all these days when I have 
not seen you, little maid ? Come here and kiss me, and 
wish me joy, as they do in old France. For I am go- 
ing to take your favorite as a husband, and you are to 
be our little daughter.” 

Rose lifted up her face. The kiss was on her fore- 
head. 

“Now, kiss me,” and she touched the small shoulder 
with something like a shake, as she offered her cheek. 

It was a cold little kiss from lips that hardly moved. 
Miladi laughed with a pretty, amused ripple. 

“In good sooth,” she said merrily, “some lover will 
teach you to kiss presently. Thou art growing very 
pretty. Rose, and when some of the gallants come over 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER i6i 

from Paris, they will esteem the foundling of Quebec 
the heroine of romance.” 

The child did not flush under the compliment, or 
the sting, but glanced down on the floor. 

“Come, thou hast not wished me joy.” 

“Madame, as I have not been to France I do not 
know how they wish joy.” 

“Oh, you formal little child !” laughing gayly. 
“Do you not know what it is to be happy? Why, 
you used to be as merry as the birds in singing 
time.” 

“I can still be merry with the birds.” 

“But you must be merry for M. Destournier. He 
wishes you to be happy, and has asked me to be a 
mother to you. Why, I fell in love with you long ago, 
when you were so ill. And surely you have not for- 
gotten when I found you on the gallery, in a dead 
faint. You were grateful for everything then.” 

Had she loved miladi so much? Why did she not 
love her now? Why was her heart so cold? like lead 
in her bosom. 

“I am grateful for everything.” 

“Then say you are glad I am going to marry M. 
Ralph, who loves me dearly.” 

“Then I shall be glad you are to marry him. But 
I am sorry for M. Giffard, in his lonely grave.” 

“Oh, horrors, child! Do you think I ought to be 
buried in the same grave? There, run away. You 
give me the shivers.” 


i 62 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


Rose made a formal little courtesy, and walked 
slowly out of the room, with a swelling heart. 

Miladi told of the scene to her lover daintily, and 
with some embellishments, adding — “She is a jealous 
little thing. You will be between two fires.’' 

“The fires will not scorch, I think,” smiling. “She 
will soon outgrow the childish whim.” 

In his secret heart there was a feeling of joy that 
he had touched such depths in the little girl’s soul. 
Miladi was rather annoyed that he had not agreed to 
send her to some convent in France, as she hoped. 
But in a year or two she might choose it for herself. 

They went up to the chapel to be married. The 
Governor gave the bride away. She was gowned just 
as Rose had seen her that first time, only she was cov- 
ered with a fine deerskin cloak, that she laid aside as 
they walked up the aisle, rather scandalizing the two 
Recollet fathers. She looked quite like a girl, and it 
was evident she was very happy. 

Then they had a feast in the new house, and it was 
the first occasion of real note there had been in Que^ 
bee. Rose was very quiet and reserved among the 
grown folks, though M. de Champlain found time to 
chat with her, and tell her that now she had found real 
parents. 

After this there was a busy season preparing for the 
winter, as usual, drying and preserving fruits, taking 
up root vegetables and storing them, gathering nuts, 
and getting in grains of all kinds. Now they kept 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 163 

pigs alive until about midwinter, and tried to have 
fresh game quite often. The scurvy was practically 
banished. 

As for Rose, the marriage made not so much differ- 
ence. She was let very much alone, and rambled 
about as she listed, until the snows came. Occasion- 
ally she visited Marie, but everything was in a huddle 
in the small place, and the chimney often smoked when 
the wind was east. But Marie seemed strangely con- 
tent and happy. Or she went to the Gaudrions, which 
she really liked, even if the babies did tumble over her. 

She went sometimes to the classes the Governor’s 
wife was teaching, and translated to the Indian chil- 
dren many things it was difficult for them to under- 
stand. 

Madame de Champlain would say — ^‘Child, thou 
ought to be in the service of the good God and His 
Virgin Mother. He has given thee many attractions, 
but they are to be trained for His work, not for thy 
own pleasure. We are not to live a life of ease, but 
to deny ourselves for the sake of the souls of those 
around us.” 

'T think oftentimes, Madame, they have no souls,” 
returned the daring girl. “They seem never able to 
distinguish between the true God and their many gods. 
And if they are ill they use charms. Their religion, I 
observe, makes them very happy.” 

“There are many false things that please the carnal 
soul. That is what we are to fight against. Oh, child. 


164 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


I am afraid the evil one desires thee strongly. Thou 
shouldst go to confession, as we do at home, and 
accept the penances the good priests put upon thee.” 

Confession had not made much headway with these 
children of the new world. Father Jamay, to his great 
disgust, found they would tell almost anything, think- 
ing to please him with a multitude of sins, and they 
went off to forget their penance. So it was not strong- 
ly insisted upon. 

Madame de Champlain was a devote. In her secret 
heart she longed for the old convent life. Still she 
was deeply interested in the plans of the Recollet 
fathers, who were establishing missions among the 
Hurons and the Nipissings, and learning the lan- 
guages. She gave generously of her allowance, and 
denied herself many things ; would, indeed, have given 
up more had her husband allowed it. 

Captain Pontgrave came in to spend the winter, 
brave and cheerful, though he had lost his only son. 
While the men exchanged plans for the future, and 
smoked in comfort, Madame was often kneeling on 
a flat stone she had ordered sent to her little convent- 
like niche, praying for the salvation of the new 
world to be laid at the foot of God’s throne, and 
to be a glory to old France. But the court of old 
France was revelling in pleasure and demanding furs 
for profit. 

Destournier occasionally joined the conclave. His 
heart and soul were in this new land and her advance- 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 165 

merit, but his wife demanded his company most of 
his evenings. She sat in her high-backed chair 
wrapped in furs listening to his reading aloud or ap- 
pearing to, though she often drowsed off. But there 
was another who drank in every word, if she did not 
quite understand. The wide stone chimney gave out 
its glowing fire of great logs, sometimes hemlock 
branches that diffused a grateful fragrance around the 
room. On a sort of settle, soft with folds of furs. 
Rose would stretch out gracefully, or curl up like a 
kitten, and with wide-open eyes turn her glance from 
the fascinating fire to the reader’s face, repeating 
in her brain the sentences she could catch. Some- 
times it was poetry, and then she fairly revelled in 
delight. 

After a few weeks she seemed to accept the fact of 
the marriage with equanimity, but she grew silent 
and reserved. She understood there was a secret ani- 
mosity between herself and miladi, even if they were 
outwardly agreeable. She had gathered many pretty 
and refined ways from Madame de Champlain, or else 
they were part of the unknown birthright. She had 
turned quite industrious as well, the winter day 
seemed dreary when one had no employment. She 
read a good deal too, she could understand the French, 
and occasionally amused herself translating. 

When the spring opened the Governor and several 
others went to the new trading post and town, Mont 
Real. There really seemed more advantages here than 


1 66 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

at Quebec. There was a long stretch of arable land, 
plenty of fruit trees, if they were wild; a good port, 
and more ease in catching the traders as they came 
along. There, too, stray Indians often brought in a 
few choice furs, which they traded for various trifles, 
exchanging these again for rum. 

Rose drew a long breath of delight when the spring 
fairly opened, and she could fly to her olden haunts. 
Oh, how dear they were! Though now she often 
smuggled one of M. Ralph’s books and amused her- 
self reading aloud until the woods rang with the melo- 
dious sounds. 

Miladi liked a sail now and then on the river, when 
it was tranquil. She did not seem to grow stronger, 
though she would not admit that she was ill. She 
watched Rose with a curious half-dread. She was 
growing tall, but her figure kept its lithe symmetry. 
Out in the woods she sometimes danced like a wild 
creature. Miladi had been so fond of dancing in M. 
Giffard’s time, but now it put her out of breath and 
brought a pain to her side. She really envied the 
bright young creature in the grace and rosiness of 
perfect health. 

This summer a band of Jesuits came to the colony. 
They received a rather frigid welcome from the colo- 
nists, but the Recollets, convinced that they were mak- 
ing very slow advance in so large a field, opened their 
convent to them, and assisted them in getting head- 
quarters of their own. And the church in Quebec be- 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 167 

gan to take shape, it was such a journey to the con- 
vent services at the St. Charles river. 

There followed a long, cold winter. Miladi was 
housed snug and warm, but she grew thinner, so that 
her rings would not stay on her slim fingers. There 
had been troubles with the Indians and at times M. 
Destournier was obliged to be away, and this fretted 
her sorely. 

There was a great conclave at Three Rivers, to 
make a new treaty of peace with several of the tribes. 
A solemn smoking of pipes, passing of wampum, 
feasts and dances. And then, as usual, the influx of 
traders. 

Madame de Champlain desired to return to France 
with her husband, who was to sail in August. The 
rough life was not at all to her taste. 

“Oh,'' said miladi, eagerly, when she heard this, 
“let us go, too. I am tired of these long, cold winters. 
I was not made for this kind of life. If M. Giffard 
had lived a year longer he would have had a compe- 
tency ; and then we should have returned home. Sure- 
ly you have made money." 

“But mine is not where I can take it at a month's 
notice. I have been building on my plantation, weed- 
ing out some incompetent and drunken tenants, and 
putting in others. Pontgrave is going. Du Parc is 
much at the new settlement at Beaupre. It would not 
be possible for me to go, but you might." 

“Go alone?" in dismay. 


i68 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


‘It would not be alone. Madame de Champlain 
would be glad of your company.” 

“A woman who has no other thought but contin- 
ual prayers, and anxieties for the souls of the whole 
world.” 

“Another year ” 

“I want to go now” — impatiently. 

She was like a fretful child. He looked in vain now 
for the charms she had once possessed. 

“I could not possibly. It would be at a great loss. 
And I am not enamored of the broils and disputes. 
How do I know but some charge may be trumped up 
against me? The fur company seize upon any pre- 
text. And even a brief absence might ruin some of 
my best plans. Marguerite, I am more of a Canadian 
than a Frenchman. The Sieur has promised to inter- 
est some new emigrants. I see great possibilities 
ahead of us.” 

“So you have talked always. I am homesick for 
La Belle France. I want no more of Canada, of Que- 
bec, that has grown hateful to me.” 

Her voice was high and tremulous, and there burned 
a red spot on each cheek. 

“Then let me send you. You should stay a year to 
recuperate, and I may come for you.” 

“I will take Rose.” 

“If she wishes. But I will not have her put in a 
convent.” 

“She is like a wild deer. Do you mean to marry 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 


169 

her to some half-breed? There seems no one else. 
The men who come on business leave wives behind. 
There is no one to marry.” 

“You found some one,” he returned good-naturedly, 
smoothing her fair hair. 

“Can you find another ?” 

“She is but a child. There need to be no hurry.” 

“She has outgrown childhood. To be sure, there is 
Pierre Gaudrion, who hangs about awkwardly, now 
and then.” 

“She will never marry Pierre Gaudrion. She is of 
too fine stuff.” 

“A foundling! Who knows aught about her? 
Most Frenchmen like a well-born mother for their 
children.” 

“She is in no haste for a husband. But do not let 
us dispute about her. You excite yourself too much. 
Think seriously of this project. The Sieur will see 
you safely housed when once you are there.” 

He turned and went out. She fell into a violent fit 
of weeping. She could coax anything out of Laurent, 
poor Laurent, who might have been alive to-day but 
for the friendship he thought he owed M. Destournier. 
And they might now be in Paris, where there were 
all sorts of gay goings-on. This life was too stupid 
for a woman, too cold, too lonely. And a wife should 
be a husband’s first thought. Ralph was cold and 
cruel, and had grown stern, almost morose. 

He walked over to the plantation. By one of the 


170 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


log huts Rose stood talking to an Indian woman. Yes, 
she was no longer a child. She was tall and shapely, 
full of vigor, glowing with health, radiant in coloring, 
yes, beautiful. There was much of the olden time 
about her in the smiles and dimples and eagerness, 
though she was grave in miladi’s presence. 

Yet neither was she a woman. The virginal lines 
had not wholly filled out, but there was a promise of 
affluence that neither my lady nor the Madame pos- 
sessed. For the lovely Helene had devote written 
in every line of her face, a rapt expression, that 
seemed to lift her above the ordinary world. The 
souls of those she came in contact with were the great 
thing. And though the Sieur was a good Catholic, he 
was also of the present world, and its advancement, 
and had always been inspired with the love of an ex- 
plorer, and of a full, free life. He could never have 
been a priest. He had the right view of colonization, 
too. Homes were to be made. Men and women were 
to be attached to the soil to make it yield up the boun- 
tiful provision hidden in its mighty breast. 

And miladi ! There had been so few women in his 
life that he knew nothing of contrast, or analysis. 
Some of the men took Indian wives for a year or so : 
that had never appealed to him. He had been charmed 
by Madame Giffard from the very first meeting with 
her, but she was another man’s wife, and she loved 
her husband. The pretty coquetries were a part of 
the civilized world over in France and meant only a 


MILADI AND M. DESTOURNIER 


171 

graceful desire to please. Then in her sorrow he 
pitied her profoundly, and felt that he owed her the 
highest and most sacred duty. 

But as he studied Rose now, and thought of a sug- 
gested lover in Pierre Gaudrion, his whole soul rose 
in revolt. And the other thought of sending her away 
was equally distasteful. Why, she was the light and 
sweetness of the settlement. In a different fashion 
she captured the hearts of the Indian women, and 
taught them the love of home-making, roused in some 
of them intelligence. How did she come by it ? There 
was Wanamee. 

He did not dream that he had awakened a desire for 
knowledge in the girl’s breast and brain. But she had 
gone beyond him in the lore of the sea and the sky, 
and the romance of the trees, that to him were promis- 
ing materials for houses and boats. They were her 
friends. She could translate the soft murmur that 
ran through their leaves, or the sweet, wild whistle of 
the wind that blew in from the river or down from the 
high hills, — from the ice and snow of the fur country. 
And sometimes he had seen her run races with the 
foaming river, where it whirled and eddied and fret- 
ted against a spur of the mighty rocks. All her life, 
from the day he found her on the rocks, seemed ta 
pass before him in one great flash. He exulted that 
she belonged to no one, that he had the best right to 
her. He could not have told why. Heaven had denied 
him a child of his very own, and he had learned that 


172 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


miladi considered babies a wearisome burthen, fit only 
for peasants and Indian women. 

Did the saintly and beautiful Helene think so as 
well ? he wondered. He had learned a good deal about 
womankind since his marriage, but he made a grand 
mistake, he had learned only about one woman; and 
she was not the noblest of her kind. 

Rose turned suddenly and saw him in that half- 
waiting attitude. There was little introspection, or 
analysis, in those days ; people simply lived, felt with- 
out understanding. She had outgrown her first feel- 
ing of aversion. In a vague fashion she realized that 
miladi needed protection and care that no one but M. 
Destournier could give her. She was sorry she could 
not ramble about, that she never brightened up, and 
sung and danced any more. And this was why she. 
Rose, did not want to grow old and give up the de- 
lights of vivid, enchanting exercise. 

Why miladi was captious and changeful, never of 
the same mind twice, she could not understand. What 
suited her to-day bored her to-morrow. She gave up 
trying to please, though she was generally ready and 
gracious. But she remarked it was the same way with 
M. Ralph, and he bore the captiousness with so sweet 
a temper that she felt moved to emulate him. In the 
depths of her heart there was a great pity, and it was 
sweet to him, though neither ever adverted to it. 


CHAPTER XI 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 

As if his eyes had summoned her, she turned toward 
him. Out here in God’s wide, beautiful world they 
could be the same friends, and not fret any one. It 
might have been dangerous if he had not been so up- 
right a man, with no subtle reasonings, and she less 
simple-hearted. 

*T have been helping Evening Star arrange her 
house. She is anxious to be like a Frenchwoman, 
and has put off many Indian ways since she became 
a convert.” 

“But you do not give her her Christian name,” and 
he smiled. 

“Maria Assunta! It isn’t half as pretty. She has 
such lovely deep eyes, and such velvety skin that her 
Indian name suits her best. What does it matter?” 

“Perhaps it helps them to break away from Indian 
superstitions. I do see some improvement in the 
women, but the men ” 

She laughed lightly. “The women were better in 
the beginning. They were used to work. And all the 
braves care for is hunting and drinking bouts. If 

173 


174 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


I were a priest, I should consider them hardly worth 
the trouble.” 

“A fine priest you would make. They consider you 
half a heretic.” 

‘T go to chapel, M’sieu, when one can get there. I 
know a great many prayers, but they are much alike. 
I would like all the world to be upright and good, but 
I do not want to stay in a stifling little box until my 
breath is almost gone, and my knees stiff, saying a 
thing over and over. M’sieu, I can feel the Great 
Presence out on the beautiful rocks, as I look down 
on the river and watch the colors come and go, amber 
and rose, and greens of so many tints ; and the music 
that is always so different. Then I think God does 
not mean us to shut it all out and be melancholy.” 

“You were ever a wild little thing.” 

‘T can be grave, M’sieu, and silent, when there is 
need, for others. But I cannot give up all of my own 
life. I say to my heart — ‘Be still, it is only for a little 
while’ — then comes the dance of freedom.” 

She laughed, with a ripple of music. 

“I wonder,” he began, after a pause, watching her 
lithe step and the proud way she carried her head — 
“I wonder if you would like to cross the ocean, to go 
to France?” 

“With the beautiful Madame? It is said she is to 
sail as soon as the boats are loaded.” 

“Miladi might go with her. I could not be spared. 
And you ” 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 


175 

He saw the sudden, great throb that moved her 
breast up to her very shoulders. 

'T should not want to go,’’ in a quiet tone. 

“But if I found at the last hour that I could go?” 

She drew a long breath. “M’sieu, I have no desire 
to see France. I hear you and the Governor talk about 
it, and the great court where the King spends his 
time in foolishness, and the Queen Mother plots wicked 
schemes. And they throw people in prison for re- 
ligion’s sake. Did I hear a story of some people who 
were burned at the stake ? Why, that is as cruel as the 
untaught Indians. And to cross the big, fearful ocean. 
Last summer we sailed up to the great gulf, you know, 
and you could see where the ocean and sky met. No, 
I like this old, rocky place the best.” 

“But if miladi wanted you to go very much ?” 

“She will not want me very much, in her heart,” and 
she glanced up so straightforwardly that he flushed. 
“No, you will leave me here and I will be very reli- 
gious. I will go to the chapel every Sunday and pray. 
I will have a prie-dieu in one corner, and kneel many 
times a day, praying that you will come back safely. 
I shall have something real to pray for then. And — 
miladi will be very happy.” 

There was a fervor, touching in its earnestness, that 
penetrated his soul. 

“You will not miss me much,” he ventured. 

The quick tears sprang to her eyes. 

“Oh, yes, I should miss you,” and her voice had a 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


176 

little tremble in it. “But you would return. Oh, yes, 
I know the good God would send you back. See how 
many times he has sent the Sieur de Champlain back !” 

She raised her face to his, and though the tears 
still beaded her long lashes, the lips smiled adorably. 
He could have kissed her, but his fine respect told 
him that endearment was sacred to another man now. 

“I do not think I shall go. Some one must be here 
to see that things do not go to wreck.” 

She wondered if miladi would go without him. 
They walked on silently. He was thinking of the 
other man. The Sieur hoped to persuade some better- 
class emigrants on his next voyage. 

Whether miladi would have gone or not could not 
be known. She was taken quite ill. The doctor came 
down from Tadoussac, and said she would not be 
strong enough to stand such a long voyage. 

Wanamee was her indefatigable nurse when her 
husband was away, as he was compelled to be in the 
daytime. On a few occasions she insisted that Rose 
should read from some old volumes of poems. She 
used to watch, with strange, longing eyes. Ah, if she 
could be young again, and strong. Did M’sieu Ralph 
often think of the years between, and that some time 
in the future she would be an old woman! He ap- 
peared to grow more vigorous and younger. 

There were busy times in the little town. The trad- 
ers seemed to be rougher every year. They were not 
much inside the palisade, but they set up booths and 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 


177 


tents on the shore edge, and there was much drinking 
and chaffering. 

‘Thou must not go outside of the palisade,’’ said 
Destournier to Rose. ‘There are many rude, drunken 
men about.” 

She did not demur. In truth she spent many hours 
comforting the Indian women for the loss of their 
angel lady, whom they had truly worshipped, and 
whom, in their vague ignorant fashion, they had con- 
fused with the Virgin. But she had wearied of the 
wildness and the lack of the society of the nuns that she 
loved so dearly. Two of her maids would return with 
her, the other had married. 

And though she had not made very warm friends 
with Madame Destournier, she would have liked her 
companionship on the long voyage. And miladi was 
really sorry to have the break, since there were so few 
women, even if she did tire of her religion. 

“If we do not meet again here,” Madame Helene 
said, in her sweetly-modulated voice, that savored of 
the convent, “it is to be hoped we shall reach the home 
where we shall rest with the saints, when the Divine 
has had His will with us. Farewell, my sister, and 
may the Holy Virgin come to your assistance in the 
darkest hours.” 

Then she knelt and prayed. Miladi shuddered. Was 
she going to die? Oh, no, she could not. 

The vessel came down from Tadoussac. All the 
river was afloat, as usual, at this season. A young 


178 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

man sprang off and pressed his sister’s hand 
warmly. 

The Heberts, with their son and daughter, the mar- 
ried maid and her husband and several others, who 
had stood a little in awe of the Governor’s lady, were 
there to wish her hon voyage. Her husband assisted 
her, with the tenderest care. Was he happy with her, 
when she was only half his age? M. Destournier won- 
dered. 

When they started, a salute was fired. He was leav- 
ing his new fort but half completed. 

“Who was that pretty young girl who kept so close 
to the Heberts?” Eustache Boulle asked his sister. 
“There, talking to that group of Indian women.” 

“Oh, that is M. Destournier’s ward. Surely, you 
saw her when you first came here, though she was but 
a child then. A foundling, it seems. Good Father 
Jamay was quite urgent that she should be sent home, 
and spend some years in a convent.” 

“And she refused? She looks like it. Oh, yes, I 
remember the child.” 

“Beauty is a great snare where there is a wayward 
will,” sighed the devoted Helene. “It is no country for 
young girls of the better class. Though no one knows 
to what class she really belongs.” 

Eustache fell into a dream. What a bright attract- 
ive child she had been. How could he have forgotten 
her? He was two-and-twenty now, and his man’s 
heart had been stirred by her beauty. 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 


179 


If Rose was not so much of a devote she began to 
make herself useful to many of the Indian converts 
who missed their dear lady. To keep their houses tidy, 
to learn a little about the useful side of gardening, 
and how their crops must be tended, to insure the 
best results. The children could be set to do much of 
this. 

Quebec fell back to its natural state. There was no 
more carousing along the river, no drunken men 
wrangling in the booths, no affrays. Rose could ram- 
ble about as she liked, and she felt like a prisoner set 
free. Madame Destournier was better, and each day 
took a sail upon the river, which seemed to strengthen 
her greatly. Presently they would spend a fortnight 
at the new settlement, Mont Real. Many things were 
left in the hands of M. Destournier, and his own affairs 
had greatly increased. 

One afternoon Rose had espied a branch of purple 
plums, that no one had touched, on a great tree that 
had had space and sun, but fruited only on the south- 
ern side. No stick or stone could dislodge them. 
How tempting they looked, in their rich, melting sheen. 

“I must have some,’' she said, eyeing the size of 
the trunk, the smooth bark, and the distance before 
there was any limb. Then she considered. Finding a 
crotched stick, a limb that had been broken off in 
some high wind, she caught it in the lowest branch 
and gently pulled it down until she grasped it with 
her hand. 


i8o A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

Yes, it was tough. She swung to it. Then she felt 
her way up cautiously, like a cat, and when she swung 
near enough, caught one arm around the tree trunk. 
It was a hard scramble, but she stood upon it trium- 
phantly. It bore her weight, yet she must go higher, for 
she could not reach the temptingly-laden limb. Now 
and then a branch swayed — if she had her stick up here 
that she had dropped so disdainfully when she had 
captured the limb. 

“It is a good thing to be sure you will not want 
what you fling away,'’ she said to herself, senten- 
tiously. 

“Aha!” She had caught the limb and drew it in 
carefully. There she sat, queen of a solitary feast. 
Were ever plums so luscious ! Some of the ripest fell 
to the ground and smashed, making cones of golden 
red, with a tiny cap of purple at the top. 

In the old Latin book she still dipped into occasion- 
ally there were descriptions of orchards laden with 
fruit that made the air around fragrant. She could 
imagine herself there. 

In. that country there were gods everywhere, by the 
streams, where one named Pan played on pipes. What 
were pipes that could emit music? The nooks hid 
them. The zephyrs repeated their songs and laments. 

There was a swift dazzle and a bird lighted on the 
branch above her, and poured out such a melodious 
warble that she was entranced. A bird from some 
other tree answered. Ah ! what delight to eat her fill 


A FEAST OF SUMMER i8i 

to measures of sweetest music, and she suddenly joined 
in. 

The young fellow who had been following a beaten 
path paused in amaze. Was it a human voice? It 
broke off into a clear, beautiful whistle that, striking 
against a ledge of rock, rebounded in an echo. He 
crept along on the soft grass, where the underbrush 
had some time been fired. The tree was swaying 
to and fro, and a shower of fruit came to the 
ground. 

He drew nearer and then he espied the dryad. 
From one point he could see a girl, sitting in superb 
unconcern. Was it the one he had been searching for 
diligently the last hour? How had she been able to 
perch herself up there ? 

Presently she had taken her fill of the fruit, of 
swinging daintily to and fro, of watching the sun- 
beams play hide-and-seek among the distant fir trees, 
that held black nooks in their shade, of studying with 
intense ecstasy the wonderful colors gathering around 
the setting sun, for which she had no name, but that 
always seemed as if set to some wondrous music. 
Every pulse stirred within her, making life itself 
sweet. 

She stepped down on the lower limb. It would be 
rather rough to slide down the tree trunk, but she had 
not minded it in her childhood. The other way she 
had often tried as well. She held on to the limb above, 
and walked out on hers, until it began to sway so that 


i 82 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


she could hardly balance herself. Then she gave one 
spring, and almost came down in the young man’s 
arms. 

She righted herself in a moment, and stared at him. 
There was something familiar in the soft eyes, in the 
general contour of the face. 

“You do not remember me!” 

“Let me think,” she said, with a calmness that 
amused him. “Yes, it comes to me. I saw you on the 
boat that conveyed Madame de Champlain. You are 
her brother.” 

“Eustache Boulle, at your service,” and he bowed 
gracefully. “But I did not know you, Mam’selle. You 
were such a child four years ago. Even then you 
made an impression upon me.” 

She was so little used to compliments that it did 
not stir her in the slightest. She was wondering, and 
at length she said — 

“How did you find me?” 

“By hard searching, Mam’selle. I saw your foster- 
mother — I believe she is that — and she gave me a 
graphic description of your wanderings. I paused 
here because the beauty of the place attracted me. 
And I heard a voice I knew must be human, emulating 
the birds, so I drew nearer. Will you forgive me 
when I confess I rifled your store ? What plums these 
are ! I did not know that Canada could produce any- 
thing so utterly delicious. We have some wild sour 
ones that get dried and made eatable in the winter, 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 183 

when other things are scarce. And the Indians make a 
queer-tasting drink out of them.” 

'T found this tree quite by accident. I never saw 
it before, and if you will look, there are only two 
branches that have any fruit. The other side of the 
tree is barren. And that high branch will give the 
birds a feast. I do not think I could venture up there,” 
laughing. 

'T wondered how you ventured at all. And how 
you dared come down that way.” 

His eyes expressed the utmost admiration. 

“Oh,” she answered carelessly, “that was an old 
trick of mine, my childhood’s delight. I used to try 
how far I could walk out before the limb would give 
me warning.” 

“But if it had broken?” 

“Why, I should have jumped, all the same. You 
did not go with your sister and M. de Champlain.” 

“I had half a mind to, then I reconsidered.” 

She met his gaze calmly, as if she was wondering 
a little what had prevented him. 

“And I came to Quebec. It begins to grow. But 
we want something beside Indians. M. Destournier 
has settled quite a plantation of them, and my sister 
has believed in their conversion. But when one 
knows them well — he has not so much faith in them. 
They are apt to revert to the original belief, crude 
superstitions.” 

“It is hard to believe,” the girl said slowly. 


i84 a little girl IN OLD QUEBEC 

^‘That depends. Some beliefs are very pleasant 
and appeal to the heart.’’ 

‘‘But is it of real service to God that one rolls in a 
bed of thorns, or walks barefoot over sharp stones, or 
kneels all night on a hard, cold floor? There are so 
many beautiful things in the world, and God has made 
them ” 

“As a snare, the priest will tell you. Mam’selle, 
thou hast not been made for a devotee. It would 
be a great loss to one man if thou shouldst bury all 
these charms in a convent.” 

“I do not know any man who would grieve,” she 
made answer indifferently. 

“But you might,” and a peculiar smile settled about 
his lips. 

“I am going to take home as many of these plums 
as I can carry. Madame Destournier is not well, and 
has a great longing for different things. I found 
some splendid berries yesterday which she ate with a 
relish. Sickness gives one many desires. I am glad 
I am always well. At least I was never ill but once, 
and that was long ago.” 

She sprang up and began to look about her. “If I 
could find some large leaves ” 

“I will fill my pockets.” 

She looked helplessly at her own garments, and 
then colored vividly, thinking if this young man were 
not here she would gather a lapful. Why should 
she have this strange consciousness? 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 185 

Nothing of service met her gaze, and she drew her 
brow into a little frown. It gave her a curious pi- 
quancy, and interested him. She had spirit. 

“Oh, I know ! What a dullard I was. Those great 
flaring dockweeds do not grow about here. But some- 
thing else will answer.” 

She ran over to an old birch tree and tore off great 
pieces of bark, then gathering some half-dried grasses, 
began to fashion a sort of pail, bending up the edges 
to make the bottom. She was so quick and deft, it 
was a pleasure to watch her. Then she filled it with 
the choicest of the fruit. There was still some 
left. 

“We might have another feast,” he suggested. 

“I have feasted sufficiently. Let us make another 
basket. It can be smaller than this.” 

It was very pleasant to dally there in the woods. 
He was unnecessarily awkward, that the slim fingers 
might touch his, and her little laugh was charming. 

“Allow me to carry the larger one,” and he reached 
for it. 

“No, no. You are weighted in the pockets. And 
these are choice. I will have no one take part in 
them.” 

She drew herself aside and began to march with a 
graceful, vigorous step, her head proudly poised on 
the arching neck that, bared to summer suns and wind, 
yet was always white. The delicious little hollow, 
where the collar bones met, was formed to lay kisses 


1 86 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

in, and be filled with warm, throbbing lips. Yes, he 
was right in coming back to Quebec, she was more 
enchanting than the glimpse of her had been. 

“Why do you look at me so ?’’ she cried, with a kind 
of quick repulsion she did not understand, but it 
angered her. 

“It is the homage we pay to beauty, Mam’selle.” 

“Your sister is beautiful,” she said, with an abrupt- 
ness that was almost anger. 

“So thought the Sieur de Champlain, and I believe 
she was not offended at it.” 

“I am not like that,” she declared decisively. “She 
was fair as a lily, and Father Jamay said she had the 
face of a saint.” 

“I am not so partial to saints myself. And my broth- 
er-in-law would have been better satisfied, I do believe, 
if she had been less saintly.” 

She looked a trifle puzzled. 

“It is long since you left France,” she commented 
irrelevantly. 

“I was not seventeen. It is six years ago.” 

“Do you mean to go back?” 

“Sometime, Mam’selle. Would you like to go?” 

“No,” she said decidedly. 

“But why not ?” amused. 

“Because I like Quebec.” 

“It is a wretched wilderness of a place.” 

“Madame Destournier talks about France. Why, if 
Paris is all gayety and pleasure, are people put in 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 


187 


dungeons, and then to death? And there seem so 
many rulers. They are not always good to the Sieur, 
either.^' 

“They do not understand. But these are too 
weighty matters for a young head.” 

“Why do they not want a great, beautiful town here ! 
All they care about is the furs, and the rough men and 
Indians spoil the summer. I like to hear the Sieur 
tell what might be, houses and castles, and streets, in- 
stead of these crooked, winding paths, and — there are 
fine shops, where you buy beautiful things,” glancing 
vaguely at him. 

“Why should you not like to go thither then, if you 
can dream of these delights?” 

“I want the Sieur to have his way, and do some of 
the things he has set his heart upon. Miladi would 
like it too. But I am well enough satisfied.” 

She tossed her head in her superb strength. He 
had not known many women, and they were older. 
There was something in her fresh sweetness that 
touched him to the soul. 

“This way, M’sieu.” He was plunging ahead, keep- 
ing pace with some tumultuous thoughts. 

“Ah !” 

“And see — ^you have been careless. You are sow- 
ing plums along the way. This is no place for them 
to take root.” 

She gave a little laugh as well, though she had be- 
gun in a sharp tone. 


1 88 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

He had pressed the side of his slight receptacle 
and made a yawning crack in it. 

“Well, now you must gather that great leaf and 
patch it. Here are some pine needles. I sew with 
them sometimes. You do not need a thread.” 

Was she laughing at him? 

He managed to repair the damages, and picked up 
the plums he had not trodden upon, that were yield- 
ing their wine-like fragrance to the air. 

“Which way do you go, M’sieu?” she asked, with 
unconscious hauteur. 

“Why — to M. Destournier’s. I called on miladi, 
and she sent me to find you in some wood, she hardly 
knew where. And I have brought you safely back.” 

“M’sieu, I have come back many a time in safety 
without you.” 

Her voice had a suggestion of dismissal in it. 

“I must present my spoils to Madame. No, I be- 
lieve they are yours, you were the discoverer, you made 
the purple shower that I only helped gather.” 

She skipped up the steps lightly. How dainty 
her moccasined feet were ! The short skirt showed the 
small ankles and the swell of the beautiful leg. Her 
figure was not a whit behind his sister’s convent- 
trained one, but she was fearless as a deer. 

Miladi sat out on the gallery in her chair, that could 
be moved about with ease by a small lever at the side. 
Looking down at the youthful figures, the thought be- 
set her that haunts all women, that here was material 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 189 

for a very fortunate match. He was much superior to 
Pierre Gaudrion. 

“The trophies of the hunt/' Boulle exclaimed 
gayly. “The huntress and the most delicious harvest. 
I have seen nothing like it." 

“I found some plums, a tree quite by itself, and 
only two branches of fruit. We must send some of 
the best pits to M. Hebert. And I shall plant a row 
in the Sieur's garden." 

She brought out a dish and took them carefully 
from the birch-bark receptacle. The exquisite bloom 
had not been disturbed. 

“I will get a dish for yours," she said to the young 
man. 

“Mine were the gleanings," he laughed. 

Miladi's eyes glowed at the sight of the feast. Rose 
had not emptied all of hers out, and now she laid three 
beauties in the corner of the cupboard, looking around 
until she espied a pan. Wooden platters were mostly 
used, even the Indian women were handy in fashion- 
ing them. 

The young man had taken a seat and a plum, and 
was regaling his hostess with the adventure. 

“Curious that I should find the place so easily," 
and he smiled most beguilingly. “Sometimes one 
seems led in just the right way." 

For several reasons he preferred not to say he had 
heard the singing. 

“Yes," and now she gave a soft, answering smile, as 


190 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


if there might be a mysterious understanding between 
them. Miladi was often ennuied, now that she was 
never really well, and the sight and voice of a young 
man cheered her inexplicably. 

“Every one knows her. She is the most fearless 
thing.’^ 

“I remember her when she was very little. How 
tall she has grown. A very pretty girl.” 

“Youth always has a prettiness. It is the round- 
ness and coloring. I often long to go back and have it 
all over again. I should remain in France. I do not 
see what there is in this bleak country to charm one.” 

“There was some talk of your going with my sister, 
was there not?” 

“Yes. But I was too ill. And M. Destournier 
thought he could not leave. He has many interests 
here.” 

Rose re-entered the room. 

“I never tasted such delicious plums,” the elder com- 
mented, in a pleased tone. “I want some saved as long 
as they will keep.” 

“There is a quantity of them. I should have had to 
make another journey but for M. Boulle,” and she 
dropped a charming little courtesy. 

“We might see if we could not find another tree.” 

“I doubt it.” 

“Will you stay some time?” asked miladi. 

“They can do without me a while. Business is 
mostly over.” 


A FEAST OF SUMMER 


191 


She raised her eyes, and they said she was pleased 
with the plan. Rose busied herself about the room, 
then suddenly disappeared. She had seen M. Destour- 
nier coming up the crooked pathway, and with a par- 
cel in her hand, went out to meet him. 

thought of you. Miladi was delighted with hers. 
Some seagull must have brought the pit across the 
ocean. It is so much finer than any we have around 
here.’^ 

He broke it open, but the golden purple juice ran 
over his hand. 

^Tt is the wine of sunshine. Here is to thy health. 
Rose of Quebec.'" 

“M. Boulle is in there," nodding. ‘^He came out in 
the wood and found me up the tree," and she laughed 
gayly. 

“Found thee " Something sharp went to the 

heart of the man, and he looked down into the fearless 
eyes, with their gay, unsuspecting innocence. 

“As if I could be lost in dear old Quebec !" 

“Is it dear to thee ?" 

“Why, I have never known any other place, any 
other home." 

There were many knowledges beside that of child- 
hood. And among them one might be all-engrossing. 


CHAPTER XII 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 

Eustache Boull^ seemed in no hurry to return to 
Tadoussac. He was wonderfully interested in the 
new fort, in the different improvements, in miladi, 
who, somehow, seemed to improve and render her- 
self very agreeable. She had a queer feeling about him. 
If one could be young again — ah, that would be back 
in France. She had a happy time with Laurent. She 
had exulted in winning her second husband, but some- 
how the real flavor and zest of love had not been there. 

When Eustache was with Rose she experienced a 
keen, hungering jealousy, and it was then she wanted to 
be young. The girl was strangely obtuse. She never 
colored when he came, or evinced any half-bashful 
joy, she left him with miladi, and went off with the 
utmost unconcern. She was much in the settlement, 
showing the Indian women nice ways of keeping their 
homes and children tidy, so that when the beautiful 
wife of the Governor returned they would have great 
improvement to show her. True, they went out canoe- 
ing, and the sweet breath of the river washing the 
sedgy grass on the small islands, gave a faint tang of 
salt, or where it dashed and fretted against the rocks 
192 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


193 


made iridescent spray. There were so many beautiful 
places. And though she had seen the falls more than 
once, she went again to please him, after making sev- 
eral excuses. Pani was her bodyguard. He was still 
small, and lithe as an eel, and the mixture of races 
showed in him. Wanamee was sometimes peremptor- 
ily ordered to accompany him. 

The wooing of looks and smiles had little effect on 
her. Sometimes he reached for her hand, but it cun- 
ningly evaded him. She seemed so sufficient for her- 
self that the matter was reduced to good-comrade- 
ship. Yet there were times when he was wild to kiss 
the rosy, dimpling mouth, to press the soft cheek, to 
hold the pliant figure in his arms. 

It was but right that he should ask M. Destournier 
for his foster-daughter. 

To lose her! Ah, how could he give her up? 

Would you come to Quebec?” 

“My interests are at Tadoussac. And there are the 
fisheries at the islands growing more profitable. But 
I might come often if she grew homesick, and pined 
for this rough, rocky place.” 

“It will be as she pleases,” the man said, with a heavy 
heart. 

“I must tell you that I think Madame favors my 
suit.” 

M. Destournier merely bowed. 

The husband and wife had never touched upon the 
subject. She could not decide. The girl was very 


194 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


useful to her since she had fallen into invalid ways. 
M. Destournier had to be journeying about a good 
deal. She could read so delightfully when the nights 
were long, tiresome, and sleepless. Even Wanamee 
could not arrange her hair with such deft touches, and 
it really appeared as if she could take off the burthen 
of years by some delicate manipulations. Yes, she 
would miss her very much. But it would be a grand 
match for a foundling. And if they went to France, 
she would rouse herself and go. M. Destournier was 
so occupied with the matters of the town that he had 
grown indifferent, and seldom played the lover. 

But how was Eustache to propose to a girl who 
could not, or would not understand, who never allowed 
any endearments or softened to sentiment. Why, here 
had been a whole fortnight since he had won the 
Sieur’s tardy consent. Now and then he had found 
some soft-eyed Indian girl not averse to modestly- 
caressing ways, but his religion kept him from any 
absolute wrong, and meaning to marry some time, 
he had not played at lov'e. 

So he came to miladi with his anxieties. Was there 
ever a woman’s soul formed with no longing, no un- 
derstanding of the divine passion, that could kneel at 
the marriage altar in singleness of heart? 

Miladi studied the young man. Had the girl no 
warm blood coursing through her veins, no throb of 
pleased vanity, at the preference of this patient 
lover? Perhaps he was too patient. 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


195 


*'Yes/' she made answer, “I will see. You are quite 
sure your family will not be displeased? We know 
nothing of her birth, you are aware.” 

'‘Her beauty will make amends for that.” 

One could not deny her beauty. Such a dower had 
never been miladi’s, though she had been pretty in 
youth. 

“Beg her to listen to me.” 

“A man should be able to compel a woman to listen,” 
she made answer a little sharply. 

Glancing out over the space between, she caught 
sight of Rose and her husband coming down from the 
fort. She was gay enough now, talking with no re- 
straint. 

“I am almost jealous of M. Destournier,” Eustache 
said, with a sigh. 

Miladi was suddenly jealous as well, and this swept 
away the last shred of reluctance. 

“You give her great honor by this marriage pro- 
posal. She shall be compelled to consider it.” 

“A thousand thanks. If Madame will excuse, I will 
go out to them.” 

M. Destournier left her with the young lover. 
Would she not go out on the river? No. Then let 
them take a forest ramble. There were some fine 
grapes back of the settlement. Pani had brought in a 
great basket full. What would she do ? 

“Sit here on this ledge and watch the river. Pierre 
Cadotte is at the fort. They came through the 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


196 

rapids at Lachine. It was very exciting. He has been 
at the trading post up to the strait and tells marvel- 
lous stories of hardships and heroism. And the good 
priest up there has made converts already.” 

She was always so interested in some far-off thing, 
wish a priest might make a convert here. There 
is much need.” 

She was off her guard. Canoes and boats were go- 
ing up and down the river. Some men were hauling 
in a catch of fish; just below, an Indian woman sat 
weaving reed baskets, while a group of children played 
around. Not an ideal spot for love-making, but Eu- 
stache was desperate. 

“Thee” — leaning over until his black curls touched 
hers. “I would have thee converted to love and matri- 
mony. I have been a coward, and kept my heartaches 
and desires to myself. I can do it no longer.” 

“But I am not for matrimony.” She raised her 
clear eyes that would have disheartened almost any 
man. “I do not want any husband. I like my own 
fancies, and I suppose they are strange. There is 
only one person I ever talk to about them. No one else 
understands. I think sometimes I do not belong here, 
but to another country ; no, the country is well enough. 
I am suited to that. I do not want to go away.” 

“You would like old France, Paris. My mother 
would be glad to welcome you, I know. And, oh, you 
would like Paris. Or, if you would rather stay 
here ” 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


197 


‘‘I do not want to be married in a long time yet. 
Women change so much when they have husbands, and 
it seems as if they made themselves unhappy over 
many things their husbands do.” 

'‘But my sister was very happy. She would not 
have come all the way to New France if she had not 
loved her husband dearly.” 

“You see that is so different. I do not love any one 
in that manner. And, oh, M’sieu, she was like an 
angel, and prayed so much. It is a good thing, but 
I would not like to stay in a darkened room and 
pray. I like better to be roaming in the woods, and 
singing with the birds, and gathering flowers. I be- 
lieve I am not old enough to accept these things.” 

“But my sister was only twelve when she was be- 
trothed to the Sieur de Champlain.” 

“You see something makes the difference.” Her 
brow knit in perplexity. “If it is a thing you want, 
it would be very easy to reach out your hand and take 
it ” 

“But I want it!” He reached out his hand and 
caught hers. “I love you, strange, bewitching as you 
are in your innocence. And I would teach you what 
love was. No young girl loves much before marriage. 
But when she is with her husband day by day and his 
devotion is laid at her feet, she cannot help under- 
standing what a delight it is, and she learns to give of 
her sweetest and best, as you will, my adorable child.” 

The heat of his hand and the pulse throbbing in 


198 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

every finger roused a deeper feeling of resistance. 
She tried to withdraw it, but the pressure only tight- 
ened. 

“Will you release my hand?” she said, with a new- 
born dignity. “It is mine, not yours !” 

“But I wish it for mine. Oh, Rose, you sweet, de- 
lightful creature, you must learn to love me. I cannot 
give you up. And the Destourniers are quite willing. 
I have asked for you.” 

“No one can give me away. I belong only to my- 
self.” 

She drew her hand away in an unguarded moment. 
She sprang up straight and lithe, her head poised 
superbly. Every pulse within him was mysteriously 
stirred, and his breath came in gasps. Yes, he must 
set her in his life. It would be bleak and barren with- 
out. To kiss the rosy lips when he listed, to pillow 
the fair head on his shoulder, to encircle the supple 
figure, so full of vitality, in his arms — yes, that would 
be the highest delight. 

“I will wait,” he said, in a beseeching voice. “You 
are but a child. Pity has not sprung up in your heart 
yet. I will wait and watch for the first sign.” 

“Go!” She made a dismissing gesture with her 
hand. “Do not attempt to follow me.” 

He stood still, looking after her. His whole soul 
was aflame, his voice could have cried to the heavens 
above that she might be enkindled with the sacred 
flame that leaped and flashed within him. 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


199 


Rose picked her way deftly, daintily over the rocky 
way. She did not stop at the house, but went on to 
the beach. A fish-hawk was chasing a robin, that sud- 
denly veered round as if asking her protection, and 
picking up a sharp stone, she took aim at the hawk and 
stunned him for an instant, so that he lost his balance. 

“Bravo, little Rose,’' said a hearty voice, and the 
canoe turned in the bend. “If your stone had been 
larger it might have done more execution.” 

“But I saved the bird.” The robin had perched him- 
self on the limb of a dead fir tree, and began a gay 
song. 

“You had better go farther away from your enemy,” 
she counselled. Then to the canoeist — “Will you let 
me come in and go down the river?” 

“Yes, I will take you down. What did you do with 
young Boulle?” 

She colored a little. “I want to tell you.” 

“I saw you both up on the cliff.” 

“I came away and left him.” 

He drew up the canoe and she stepped in lightly, 
seating herself so gently that the canoe did not even 
swerve. 

“How blue the water is! And so clear. It is like 
the heaven above. And there are rays of sun in the 
river bed. It does not seem very deep, does it? I 
could almost touch it with my hand.” 

Destournier laughed. “Suppose you try?” 

“And tip us over?” She smiled as well. 


200 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


It was so lovely that both were moved to silence. 
Now and then they glanced at each other, at some 
special point or happening. She was not effusive. 

After a while she began with — ‘"Do you like M. 
Boulle very much?” 

“He is a promising young man, I am glad he did 
not return to France. We have few enough of them 
here. Every one counts.” 

“He will go some time,” she said, reflectively. 

A sudden thought flashed through his mind. The 
girl’s face was very calm, but her eyes had a sort of 
protest in them. 

“Will he take you ?” Destournier asked, in a husky 
tone. 

“Oh, M’sieu Ralph, would you send me? Would 
you give me to any one else?” 

Now her eyes were alight with an eager breathless 
expression that was almost anguish. 

“Not if you did not want to go.” 

“I do not want to go anywhere. Oh, M’sieu Ralph,” 
and now her tone was piteous, “I wish you would send 
him away. I liked him very well at first, but now he 
wants me to love him, and I cannot, the kind of love 
that impels one to marry, and I do not want to be mar- 
ried.” 

“Has he tried to persuade you?” 

Ralph Destournier knew he would make a good 
husband. Some time Rose would marry. But it was 
plain she did not love him. And though love might 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


201 


not be necessary, it was a very sweet accompaniment 
that, he knew now, it was sad to miss. 

'‘He talked to me about marriage. I do not like it.'’ 
She gave a little shiver, and the color went out of her 
face, even her lips, and her pliant figure §eemed to 
shrink as from a blow. 

"My child, no one shall marry you against your will, 
neither shall you be taken away. Rest content in my 
promise.” 

She nodded, then smiled, with trusting eyes. He 
wondered a little about her future. While he lived — 
well, the Sieur de Champlain was well and hearty, and 
much older. She was only a child yet, though she 
had suddenly grown tall. He could care for her in 
the years to come, and she would no doubt find a mate. 
He knew very little about girls. They generally went 
to convents and were educated and husbands were 
chosen for them by their parents. But in this new 
world matters had changed. There was talk of a con- 
vent to train the Indian girls, and the half-breeds who 
took more readily to civilization. The priests were in 
earnest about it, but money was lacking. Rose had 
picked up much useful knowledge, and knew some 
things unusual for a girl. Good Father Jamay would 
be shocked at Terence, Aristophanes, and Virgil for 
a girl. 

"So you do not like marriage?” he said, rather jest- 
ingly. 

She shook her head. 


202 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


‘‘But then you know nothing about it.” 

“Why, there is the Sieur and the beautiful Madame. 
And you and miladi. And Marie, with her dirty house 
and her babies. She is not as nice as the Indian 
women. And they have to wait upon the braves or 
else, when the braves are off fur hunting, they have 
to plant the crops and catch fish, and even hunt and 
mend tents, and do such hard work. All that is 
no delight like dreaming on the moss in the woods, 
and talking to the birds, and breathing the fragrance 
all about, and having rushes of delight sweep over 
you like a waft from the beautiful heaven above. Oh, 
why should I marry; to think of some one else that 
I do not want and not feel that my life was my very 
own.” 

He studied the youthful unconscious face before 
him, the clear, fine skin, a few shades deeper from the 
daily contact with sun and much dallying on the river ; 
the beautiful dark eyes that seemed always gathering 
the choicest of life, with joy and wonder; the rounded 
cheeks, with exquisitely-faint coloring, seeming to join 
the clear-cut chin, with its dimpled cleft melting into 
the shapely throat, that upheld it like a flower on a 
strong, yet delicate stem. He was strangely moved 
by the peculiar aloofness of the beauty. 

Her soft hair hung about her like a cloud, the curl- 
ing ends moved now and then as if by their own vigor- 
ous life. Indeed, there was an intense sort of vitality 
about her that, quiescent as it often was, in this trifling. 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


203 


daily round, could shoot up into a bewildering flame. 
Perhaps that was love. She did not have it for Eu- 
stache Boulle, she might never have it for him. Were 
men and women but half alive ? Was there some sud- 
den revivifying influence that raised them above the 
daily wants, that gave them an insight into a new 
existence? Had he ever experienced it? 

The sun dropped down behind a range of hills, cov- 
ered with pines, furs, and cedars, that were growing 
into a compact dark wall, the interstices being black. 
The edge of the river took on these sombre hues, but 
a little beyond there were long strips of rose and 
tawny gold, between zones of purple and green. The 
current tossed them hither and thither, like some weird 
thing winding about. Destournier was strangely 
moved by this mysterious kinship to nature that he 
had never experienced before. 

“We must turn back,” he began briefly, though it 
seemed to him he could gladly go on to a new life in 
some other land. 

She nodded. The tide was growing a little stronger, 
but it was in their favor. They kept quite near the 
shore, where it was dark in spaces, and then opened 
into a sort of clearing, only to close again. Even now 
the voyager dreams on the enchanting shores that are 
not all given up to towns and business. 

She began to sing. It was melody without words. 
Now and then she recalled a French verse or two, then 
it settled into some melancholy Indian plaint, or the 


204 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


evening song of a belated bird. She was not singing 
for him, yet he was enchanted. 

He drew in the canoe presently. She sprang out 
with the agile grace caught from much solitary ram- 
bling and climbing. Then she waited for him to fas- 
ten it. 

“You are quite sure that you will not consent to M. 
Boulle’s wishes?’' she inquired, as they turned in and 
out of the winding path. 

“You shall be left entirely free. You shall not 
marry at all, if you prefer,” he answered solemnly. 

“Oh, a thousand thanks. And you will convince 
miladi. I think she wishes M. Boulle all success. I 
must go make my peace with Wanamee and get some 
supper.” 

She ran to the end of the house, the wide kitchen, 
where the cooking was done. Wanamee and Mawha 
were in a discussion, as often happened. Pani sat 
with a great wooden platter on his knees, eating vora- 
ciously. Rose realized suddenly that she was hungry, 
and the smell of the broiling fish was appetizing. 

“I’m famished, Wanamee,” she cried. “Will you 
give me some supper?” 

“Miladi is much vexed with you, little one. She 
had supper sent to her room and M. Boulle was 
there. They wanted you and M. Destournier. There 
was to be a — I do not know what you call it, but he 
wanted you to promise to be his wife, for he goes 
to Tadoussac to-morrow.” 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


205 


Rose’s heart beat with a guilty joy. 

should not promise that. I do not want to be a 
wife.” 

Mawha, who had been a wife several times, a tall, 
rather severe-looking Indian woman, turned upon her. 

‘Thou art well-grown and shouldst have a husband. 
Girls get too wild if they are let go too long. A hus- 
band keeps them in order.” 

‘T will have some supper,” Rose said, with dignity, 
ignoring the stricture. 

Then she cleared a place on the table and brushed it 
clean with the birch twigs. Wanamee brought a plate 
of Indian meal cake, deliciously browned, some pota- 
toes baked in the hot ashes, and a great slice of fish, 
with a dish of spiced preserves of some green fruit 
and berries. 

‘T looked for you,” Pani said. “Were you up on 
the mountain?” 

Rose shook her head. 

She was hungry, but she dallied over her meal, won- 
dering if she had best go in and say good-night to 
miladi. She did not always; she quite understood 
now that there were times when miladi did not care 
to see her ; then, at others, she sent for her. Now she 
would let her send. She went up to her small cham- 
ber presently. The young moon was travelling over 
westward with her attendant star. There were boats 
still out on the river, merry voices, others in loud and 
angry dispute. Why did people want to quarrel, when 


2o6 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


the world was so beautiful ! Then a shrill cry of some 
night bird, guards coming and going about the fort. 
She grew drowsy presently, and went to bed, serene 
in the belief that M. Boulle would go his way and tor- 
ment her no more, for had not M. Ralph promised? 

M. Ralph and miladi were having a rather stormy 
time. She had inquired very peremptorily what had 
kept him so late. Pani had been sent to the warehouse 
and had not found him, neither had he been at the fort. 

M. Destournier was no hand to prevaricate. He 
lived an open, honest life, and had few secrets beside 
those of business. Ordinarily, he would have ex- 
plained what he had been about the last two hours, but 
he had a sudden premonition that it was wiser not to 
do so. Miladi was sometimes captious where Rose was 
concerned. 

“I was busy,” he made answer briefly. 

'‘M. Boulle goes to Tadoussac to-morrow. The ves- 
sel came down for him to-day. Some urgent business 
requires his attention.” 

‘‘He has loitered quite long enough,” commented her 
husband. “He is a pleasant young fellow, but there is 
more than indolent pleasuring to a young man’s life.” 

“He has had a purpose, a matter that lies near his 
heart. This new country and the lack of fixed rules are 
demoralizing, and it will be a good thing when there 
is a convent for the proper training of girls. But law- 
less as Rose has grown, he has asked her in marriage. 
We wanted you to ratify the consent I have g^ven. He 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


207 

will make arrangements for the marriage a few months 
hence/’ 

“You seem to think Rose has no voice in this.” 

“Why should she have? Do we not stand in the 
place of parents? My father chose M. Giffard, and 
he was presented to me as my future husband. 
No well-bred girl makes any demur. But it seems 
that Mam’selle Rose has some queer ideas, imbibed 
from heaven only knows where, that she must expe- 
rience a kind of overwhelming preference for a man, 
which would be positively disgraceful in a young girl 
who has no right to consider love until she is called 
upon to give it to her husband. It will be a most excel- 
lent thing for her.” 

There was a moment or two of silence. He was con- 
sidering how best to make his protest. 

“Well — why do you not reply?” tartly. “The young 
man is very ardent. She can never do better.” 

“She is but a child. There need be no haste. And 
if she does not care ” 

“She is no" longer a child. Fully fourteen, I think, 
and Mam’selle Boulle was married younger that that.” 

“And whether the Sieur would quite approve. There 
are some formalities in old France which we have not 
shaken off. His parents are still alive ” 

“And he is quite certain he can have the mystery 
about her fathomed. She should go down on her 
knees to a man who would prove her honorably born, 
even if he had no fortune. To-morrow morning he 


2o8 a little girl IN OLD QUEBEC 

wants the matter settled, and a betrothal, before he 
goes. If you know where she is, you had better sum- 
mon her and instruct her as to her duty. She is quite 
old enough to understand. She has played the child 
too long already, and it has spoiled her.’^ 

“I will not have her betrothed against her will. She 
has no fancy for marriage. And there will be time 
enough. If M. Boulle chooses to wait until the Sieur 
returns, and he consents ” 

''She has always been a favorite of his,'^ interrupted 
miladi. Then suddenly — "Why are you so obstinate 
about it, when it will be such an excellent thing for 
herr 

"I am not obstinate about it, only as far as she is 
concerned. If she desired it she should have my full 
and free consent. But I will not insist upon a step 
she does not desire.” 

"As if a girl knew what was best !” reiterated miladi 
scornfully. "And why should you wish to keep her? 
Unless” — and now miladi’s eyes flashed fire — "un- 
less ” 

"Do not say it !” He held up his hand forbiddingly. 

"I will say it ! You are not her father, and it seems 
strange you should have such an overwhelming fond- 
ness for her as to keep her from a most excellent mar- 
riage, and persuade yourself that a woman grown can 
indulge in all kinds of childish behavior, without det- 
riment to her character. If it is your fondness for her 
that stands in the way ” 


A LOVER IN EARNEST 


209 


Miladi at that moment was in a jealous fury. The 
passion leaped to her heart full-grown. She under- 
stood now why she half-feared, half-disliked the child 
that she had once esteemed a pet and plaything. She 
had supplanted her in her husband’s affections. She 
had youth and beauty, and miladi was fading, beside 
being years older than her husband, and then never 
very well any more. 

“Hush!” exclaimed her husband, in a commanding 
tone. *T forbid you to think of such a thing! When 
have I failed in my devotion to you? To-morrow she 
shall have her choice, but she shall not be forced into 
any promise beside her own wishes. And then I will 
find a new home for her.” 

He turned and went out of the room. Miladi 
pounded on the table before her with her small fist, as 
if she could beat the life out of something. 


CHAPTER XIII 


FROM A girl’s HEART 

Rose stood looking over the wide expanse of the river 
to the opposite shore, wondering a little. Down there, 
miles and miles below, were the English settlements. 
The men, as traders, came to Quebec now and then. 
Were the English women like the French? Were 
there young girls among them ? She was beginning to 
experience a peculiar loneliness, a want of companion- 
ship, that no one about her could satisfy. 

“Madame Destournier wishes to see you,” exclaimed 
Pani, who had been sent on the errand. 

She went slowly to miladi’s room, and entering it 
wished her good-morning, with a dainty courte^^ 

“You will be needed for a matter in hand,” began 
miladi, “about which I desire to say a few words be- 
fore the gentlemen come. It would have been settled 
yesterday, but you were not to be found. Where were 
you?” 

Miladi asked it carelessly, so intent on the matter 
in hand that she did not remark the color that flew 
up to the fair brow. 

“Out on the river,” she answered briefly. 

“It is not proper for you to go alone. I have told 


210 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


2ll 


you of this before. You are a young woman, and with 
so many men roaming about, it is too bold and unsafe, 
as well.” 

“I am never in any danger.” 

“You do not know. But then it is not proper.” 

Rose made no reply to that. For some time miladi 
had not seemed to care where she went. And she 
often did have Pani with her. 

There was a rather awkward silence. Rose was 
meditating an escape. Then miladi began, in so severe 
a tone that every nerve within her quivered. 

“Yes, you were needed yesterday afternoon. M. 
Boulle came in and laid before me a grave mat- 
ter. You two seem to have wandered about in a man- 
ner that would have scandalized a more civilized place, 
but there appear to be no restrictions in this wilder- 
ness of savages. I have not been able to watch over 
you as I should, and Wanamee does not understand. 
Out of all this freedom, so unusual to a French maid, 

‘A ^ 

has come a proposal of marriage, and this morning 
you are to be betrothed.” 

“I? But I have not consented, Madame. I told 
M. Boulle yesterday that I could not marry him, that 
I did not want to marry any one.” 

“You will consider. Remember you are a foundling, 
with no name of ancestry, no parents, that a man might 
refer to with pride when children grow up about the 
family altar. It is not a thing to be quite satisfied 
with. Mademoiselle, or proud of,” and there was a 


213 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


sting in her tone. ‘‘This man loves you so well that he 
is willing to overlook it and offer you honorable mar- 
riage, which but few men would do. We have ac- 
cepted him for you. He returns to Tadoussac to-day, 
but the marriage day will be settled and though you 
cannot have what I would wish, we will do our best.^^ 

The girl’s face had changed from scarlet to deathly 
whiteness. Something inside of her seemed to spring 
into a flame of knowledge, of womanhood, and burn 
up grandly. That subtle chemistry that works in the 
girl’s soul, and transforms it, sometimes slowly, was 
in her case like the sudden bursting of a bud into 
flowering. She was her own. She had said this be- 
fore ; in a way, she had always felt it ; but now it was 
graven with a point of steel. 

“Madame,” she began, in a tone she vainly strove 
to render steady, “only yesterday I told M. Boulle I 
could not take the love he proffered me, and make any 
return. And then I felt on a certain equality. I un- 
derstand better now. I am nameless, a rose of the 
wilderness, a foundling, as you said. So I will marry 
no man who may be ashamed of me before his chil- 
dren. Thank M. Boulle for the honor, and tell 
him ” 

The door opened, Destournier recalled one of the 
few plays he had seen in Paris, with a tragedienne 
who had won a king’s heart, and it seemed almost as 
if this girl might step into fame, so proud and full of 
power was she, standing there. Miladi had not been 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


213 

willing to wait for a conference. But the result would 
have been the same. 

Both men looked at her in surprise, and were speech- 
less for a moment. Then M. Destournier, recovering, 
reached out and took the girl’s slim, nerveless hand. 

^‘Rose,” he said, “M. Boulle has done us all the 
honor to ask your hand in marriage. If you can ac- 
cept him you will have our heartiest wishes for your 
happiness ; if you feel that you cannot, if no affection 
draws you to him, then do not give him a cold, love- 
less heart in return. Make your own choice; there is 
no one to compel you, no one to insist.” 

‘T thank you, M. Boulle, for the honor.” She held 
her head up very straight; it seemed as if she had 
grown since yesterday. Her eyes were fearless in 
their high light, the delicious curves of her lips seemed 
set as if they had been carved, instead of rosy flesh. 
“It is more than the usual honor, I believe. I am 
a nameless foundling, and have been handed about 
from one to another, and they were not the kind in 
whom one could take pride. Therefore, I shall not 
bestow myself on any man, and no one has any right 
to take advantage of his generosity. If I loved you, I 
should do the same thing. How much more resolute 
I should be when I do not love you, and would wed 
you simply for the sake of sheltering myself under 
your name. I am sorry any one has considered this 
possible, since it is not.” 

Boulle took a step forward and grasped her hand, as 


214 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


he poured out a torrent of ardent love. Miladi looked 
on, amazed. Was the girl made of stone, or was her 
heart elsewhere? She made no appeal to M. Des- 
tournier, indeed her face was turned a trifle from 
him. 

‘‘You pain me,” she said wearily, yet with a tender 
pity. “I can say no more.” 

“But I will wait,” he pleaded. 

“My answer would Mways be the same.” 

“Rose!” miladi exclaimed. 

“Madame Destournier, I thank you also for your 
kindness to a foundling, and you, also,” turning to 
M. Destournier, “for home and shelter, and many 
other things. I feel now that since I have disappointed 
you I cannot avail myself of your generosity any 
longer. I can find another home ” 

She turned swiftly as a ray of light, and disappeared. 

“Have you no control over her?” cried Madame 
angrily, “that she defies you to your face. It shows 
the blood that runs in her veins, wayward, ungrateful 
thing that no honor can raise, no generosity touch. 
She has the heart of a stone. M. Boulle, you have 
made a fortunate escape.” 

“But I love her, Madame. And I thought her noble 
in her refusal, but I would have taken her to my heart, 
no matter what she was. And I do not quite despair. 
I may find some link that will rehabilitate her. She 
must have come from a fine race. There is no peasant 
blood there.” 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


215 

“Perhaps honorable peasant blood may be cleaner 
than a king’s bastard,” returned miladi scornfully. 

“You have my most fervent sympathy,” and M. 
Destournier wrung the lover’s hand. “But it would be 
ill work marrying a woman who did not care for you. 
Perhaps another year” — should he give him hope? 
It was such an honest, earnest face, and he would have 
been brave to set at naught family tradition. 

They went down the winding stair together. Rose 
was nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, you will watch over her?” M. Boulle cried, 
with a lover’s desperation. 

“Do not fear. She has been like a child to me. No 
harm shall come to her.” 

Miladi in her transport of rage tore the handker- 
chief she held in her hand to shreds, and stamped her 
foot on the floor. 

“She shall never come in this house again, the de- 
ceitful, ungrateful wretch. And he shall not care for 
her, or befriend her in any way. She must love him, 
and it is no child’s love, either. Why, I have been 
blind and silly all this last year.” 

Ros? had flown out of the house, across the gardens 
and the settlement to the woods, where she had spent 
so many delightful hours. She threw herself down on 
the moss and the fragrant pine needles, and gave way 
to a fit of weeping that seemed to rend both soul and 
body. Was she an outcast? Oh, it could not be that 
M. Destournier would forsake her. But she could 


2i6 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


ask nothing from him, and miladi would never see 
her again. Why could she not have loved M. Boulle ? 
Did it take so much love to be a man’s wife? to be 
held in his arms and kissed, to live with him day by 
day — and she shuddered at the thought. 

But she was young, and the flood of tears subsided. 
She sat up, leaning against a stout pine. Then she 
rose and peered about. Was it true that M. Boulle was 
to go away ? What if he came and found her again ? 

She crawled out cautiously, and looked up at the 
sun. It had passed the meridian. She was hungry, 
so she searched about and found some berries, but she 
longed for something more substantial. For the first 
time solitude seemed to pall upon her. She felt as if 
everything had been swept away. 

Toward night she crept down to the settlement. 
Several of the Indian women would take her in, she 
knew. There was Noko sitting just outside her tent; 
she would not accept a cabin of logs or stone. She was 
making a cape of gulls’ feathers, that she might sell to 
some of the traders, who often took curious Indian 
finery home with their furs. Her three sons were trap- 
pers. One had a wife and three children that the poor 
mother provided for, and when her brave came home, 
she was devoted to him, grateful for a pleasant word. 
What curious ideas these aborigines had of wedded 
love ! 

'‘Noko, will you take me in for the night, and give 
me some supper?” she asked, as she threw herself 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


217 


down beside the Indian woman, who, at forty, looked 
at least sixty, and though she had the face of her tribe, 
it was marked by a grave sort of pleasantness, and not 
the severity that generally characterized middle life. 

“Has the Sieur gone to Tadoussac?’' 

“Not that I know of. But I have offended miladi. 
And your wigwam is always so clean, and there are no 
children.'^ 

The woman shook her head with a sort of remon- 
strance. 

“You will have them of your own some day. When 
they are little, you will care for them. They will be 
no trouble. When they are older, you will be proud of 
them, and rejoice in their bravery. Then they go 
away, and forget.’’ 

She began to put up her work. “Are you in ear- 
nest ?” she asked. “Do you need shelter ?” 

“Oh, the Gaudrions would take me in, but there is 
such a crowd, I am for a little quiet and solitude to- 
night.” 

“Thou shalt have it. The Sieur has been good to 
me. But it is hardly wise to quarrel with one’s home.” 

“There was no quarrel. Miladi wanted me to do 
something that I could not. And you know I have no 
real claim upon them, Noko, I belong to Quebec, not 
to any person.” 

She gave a little laugh that sounded almost shrill. 
There was not so much joy in belonging only to one’s 
self. 


2i8 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“To Quebec, yes/' 

“Now let me kindle the fire. See how handy I can 
be.** And to-morrow I can help you with that beautiful 
cape. I suppose the great ladies in Paris feel very 
grand in some of these things. I heard the Governor 
say that a great deal of money was paid for a deerskin 
dress by some one at court. It was worked beautifully, 
and as soft as velvet.” 

Rose busied herself in her eager, graceful fashion. 
Noko broiled some deer steak on the coals, and had a 
stew made of various things, with fish for the founda- 
tion. Rose was not very partial to this, but the steak 
and the cakes made of rye and corn, and well browned, 
tasted good to the hungry girl. There was a tea made 
of herbs, which had a delightful fragrance. 

Afterward they sat in the doorway, and one and 
another came to give Noko a bit of gossip. Rose crept 
off to bed presently. How fragrant the fresh balsam 
of fir was, and the tired girl soon fell asleep. 

M. Destournier had been quite engrossed with a 
few forgotten things that had to go to Tadoussac. 
Then the vessel pushed off and he turned to the store- 
house. Presently a load would go to France. Though 
he was mechanically busy, his thoughts turned to Rose. 
She must have another home. He had wondered more 
than once how it had come to pass that miladi had lost 
so many of her charms, yet grown so much more exact- 
ing. He had awakened to the fact that he had never 
been a rapturous lover. He paid Eustache Boulle all 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


219 


honor that he had proved so manly and brave, yet in 
his secret heart he felt glad that Rose had not loved 
him. Why, he could not tell, except that she was tocf 
young. And he wondered how much miladi had loved 
Laurent Giffard. How much was she capable of lov- 
ing? And the sweet angel-like Helene, who had will- 
ingly crossed the ocean and exiled herself from the 
life she loved to these uncongenial surroundings. They 
were that for a woman. 

When business was through with, he made his way 
down to M. Hebert’s. Though the man had been bred 
an apothecary, and had a wider education than many 
in a higher round, he was making an excellent and en- 
thusiastic farmer. Madame Hebert had brought some 
of the old-world knowledge and frugality with her, 
and put them in practice, bringing up her daughters to 
habits of industry, while the son was equally well 
trained by the father. 

M. Hebert was busy with his young fruit trees. 
Every year he sent for some hardy kind, and had quite 
a variety. He was a colonist, which so few of the emi- 
grants were. 

Affer a walk about the garden, they went in to see 
Madame Hebert and Therese, who was making lace. 
Then M. Destoumier preferred his request that they 
would take Rose for a while. He did not hint at any 
disagreement. Madame Destournier’s health was pre- 
carious, and she had little idea of what was necessary 
for a girl, having been convent-trained herself. Now 


220 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


that Madame de Champlain had gone there was no real 
companionship for Rose, who was surely outgrowing 
her childish fancies. 

“How would you like it, Therese asked her 
mother. 

Therese was a solid dark-eyed, dark-haired, rather 
heavy-looking girl, without the French vivacity and 
eagerness. Destournier smiled inwardly; he could 
hardly fancy their being companions ; yet in a way, each 
might benefit the other. 

“Why — if you approved. Though I am never lone- 
ly,” raising her eyes to the visitor. 

“Rose is quite given to rambling about. She haunts 
the woods, she is fond of canoeing, and I think she has 
quite a mind for study. I am sorry there are so few 
opportunities. Our good fathers seem to frown on 
everything but prayers.” 

“Prayers are good, but there must be work, as well,” 
said Madame Hebert, who had been brought up a Hu- 
guenot, and who thought conventual life a great 
waste. 

“I should like the change for her. It may not be 
for long, but it would be a favor. And you need not 
feel that you must devote a great deal of time and 
energy to her, but give her the shelter of a home, until 
matters change a little,” with a hopeful accent in his 
voice, and a smile that had the same aspect. 

“Madame Destournier is not well?” in a tone of in- 
quiry. 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


a2i 


“No. She should have gone to France with the Sieur 
and his wife, but it was thought she had not the 
strength to stand the sea voyage. I feel much troubled 
about her.” 

Madame Hebert was sympathetic, but she had never 
admired the wife as much as she did the husband. 
She was too volatile in the early days, and held her 
head quite too high. 

It was arranged that Rose should be an inmate of 
the Hebert home for a month or two. It was such a 
comfortable, cheerful-looking place. There was a set 
of bookshelves, and no one beside the Governor owned 
more than a prayer-book, which did little good, since 
they could hardly read in their own language. 

M. Ralph did not go at once to his wife, but 
stopped in the kitchen. Mawha was brewing some 
herbs. Wanamee entered with a plate on which there 
was some wheaten toast. 

“She will not take it. She does nothing but fret 
for Monsieur, and say dreadful things about ma fille” 
— then she stopped in a fright, seeing her master. 

“Where is Rose ?” he asked. 

“She has not been here all day. I sent Pani to look 
for her, but he has not returned.” 

M. Destournier went to his wife’s room. She was 
hysterical and unreasonable. 

“Promise me that such a miserable, deceitful thing as 
that girl is shall never enter this house,” she cried. “I 
cannot breathe the same air with her. You must 


222 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


choose between us. If you keep to her, I shall know 
you have no love for me. I will kill myself.” 

'‘Marguerite, calm yourself. Rose is not to remain 
here, but go to the Heberts. So you will have quiet 
and nothing to do but recover your health. And if you 
can get well enough, we will go to Montreal, as I have 
to transact some business. The change will do you 
good.” 

"You will not take her?” 

"No, no. Now let the girl alone. She is provided 
for, and you have the two women at your service.” 

"She did nothing for me. And after roaming the 
woods and canoeing with M. Boulle, she should have 
been glad to marry him, for decency’s sake.” ’ 

"We will let her quite alone,” he exclaimed authori- i 
tatively. "Why did you not eat some supper?” 

"I couldn’t. Oh, Ralph, be kind to me. Do not let 
that girl steal your love from me. I was quite as 
pretty in youth, but the years are hard on one. And I i 
need your love more than ever. You are not tender 
and caressing as Laurent was.” 

He bent over and kissed her, smoothed her tangled 
hair, and patted the hot cheek. 

"I have been busy all day, and have had no supper,” 
he began, loosening the hands about his neck. 

She sobbed wildly. She had been so lonely all day. 

She missed -M. Boulle so much. He would have been 
a son to them. 

He had to tear himself away. He did not take his 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


223 


supper, but rushed out to make inquiries. Where had 
Rose gone? Was she wandering about the woods? 
There had been wolves, stray Indians, and a dozen dan- 
gers. The palisade gates were fastened. He asked at 
two or three of the cabins, where he knew she was a 
favorite. And where was Pani? 

Pani was asleep on a soft couch of moss, under a 
clump of great oak trees. He had lain down, warm 
and tired, and his nap was good for ten or twelve 
hours. 

‘T saw her by Noko’s wigwam,*^ said a woman, as 
she heard him inquiring. 

Not even waiting to thank her, he rushed thither. 
Noko had the reputation of being a sort of seer, 
though she seldom used her gift. She sat on the stone 
beside her door, and a woman knelt before her, to 
whom she was talking in a low monotonous tone. His 
step startled the listener, and she sprang up. 

“Whither did Rose go ?” he asked peremptorily, seiz- 
ing Noko’s arm. 

“She is here. Monsieur. She is in bed asleep. 
There is trouble and the fair-haired woman hates her. 
You had better not try to make them agree. And she 
has no love for the dark-haired suitor who is on the 
river, dreaming of her. She is too young. Let her 
alone.’' 

“I wanted to know that she was safe. I will see her 
in the morning. Keep her until I come.” 

“Yes, Monsieur.” 


224 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


Madame Destournier had wept herself to sleep, and 
was breathing in comparative tranquillity. Ralph 
sat down beside the bed. If Rose had loved Eustache 
Boulle, the way would have been smooth as a summer 
sea. Was he sorry, or mysteriously glad? Why should 
he be glad ? he demanded of himself. 

Rose made no demur the next morning when M. 
Destournier told her of the new arrangements, only 
stipulating that she should have her liberty, to go and 
come as she pleased. 

^^Are you very angry because I could not take M. 
Boulle for a husband?” she inquired timidly. 

“Oh, no, no. It was your life. Mademoiselle, for 
sorrow or joy. You only had the right to choose.” 

The bronze lashes quivered sensitively upon her 
cheeks, and a soft flush seemed to tangle itself among 
them. 

“Is it joy, M’sieu?” in a low tone. 

“It ought to be.” 

“Then I shall wait until there comes a touch of joy 
greater than any I have yet known. And I have had 
thrills of delight that have gone all through my body, 
but they faded. The love for a husband should last 
one’s whole life.” 

“Yes, Mademoiselle. Why not?” 

All the white tones of her skin flushed to rose, and 
crept even among the tendrils of her hair and over 
her small ears. Had he ever remarked how perfect 
they were before? 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


225 

“Ma aile” he responded softly. “And you will be 
content until better times.’^ 

“So long as I do not have to marry, yes.’^ 

“That is a good iille, I shall see you now and then. 
You will like M. Hebert. He has plenty of books, and 
it will be a good practice to read up French.” 

She nodded. 

He took a second thought. 

“You may as well go now, and I will see that all is 
fair sailing. Noko, thanks for keeping Rose of Quebec 
where neither wolves nor marauders could get at her.” 

They walked quietly along, she with her agile step, 
that gave graceful turns to her figure. She was hardly 
a woman, and yet more than a child. But she kept 
the sweet simplicity of the latter. 

Madame Hebert gave her a pleasant welcome. 
Therese glanced up from her lace work and nodded, 
hoping in a formal and quite ungirlish manner that 
she would be happy with them. Rose sat down beside 
her, and looked at the lace. There were pins stuck in 
a cushion and Therese threw her thread over this one 
and that one. How queer it looked. 

“But if you should go wrong?” she inquired. 

“Here is the pattern. This is quite simple. I have one 
very intricate, but handsome, like they make at home, 
Maman says. And one with beads. I took the idea from 
an Indian woman. I have some finished work, too.” 

“I have done a little of that. Miladi, that is Madame 
Destournier, used to do embroidery. At first she had 


126 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


such a store of pretty things. But now they cost so 
much. Only there are always packs of furs to ex- 
change.” 

M. Hebert .came in, with a pleasant word for his 
guest. They were extremely sorry that Madame was 
ill, but it gave them the pleasure of a visit from Rose. 
M. Destournier said she was fond of reading; he had 
some poets, and books on gardening, out of which he 
made poetry, smiling with French gayety. 

On the whole, Rose liked the exchange. For a few 
days it seemed rather stiif, but there were so many new 
things, and M. Hebert liked a good listener. She 
walked about the garden with him. There were some 
rare flowers, of which he was very proud, and several 
he had found in the woods. Then there was a bed of 
herbs, and he distilled remedies, as well as some de- 
lightful perfumes. He soon grew quite fond of the 
pretty girl who was so interested in his pursuits, and 
fond of hearing him read aloud, and though his wife 
and children listened amiably, their thoughts were more 
on their work. Industry was Madame Hebert’s cardinal 
virtue, and her daughter was a girl after her own heart. 

But this fresh young creature to whom a marvel- 
lous world was being opened, who watched with eager 
eyes, who smiled or was saddened, who was sympa- 
thetic or indignant, who flushed or paled with the pain 
of tragedy, how charming she was! 

She often ran up to the old home for a word with 
Wanamee, who was glad to see her. Miladi was 


FRO.M A GIRUS HEART 


227 

neither better nor worse, some days so irritable that 
nothing could please her. 

“She would keep M. Destournier beside her all the 
time,’' said Wanamee, “but a man has business. He 
is not meant for a nurse, and to yield to every whim. 
She is not a happy woman, miladi, and one hardly 
knows how much of her illness is imaginary. If she 
would only brighten up and go out a little, I think she 
would be better.” 

Rose used her strongest efforts to induce Therese 
to take a ramble with her. She did go to the woods 
occasionally, but she took her work along, always. 

“Why do you keep so closely to it ?” Rose asked one 
day. 

“Mam’selle, part is for my trousseau. Maman in- 
structed me in the fashion of her old home, where girls 
begin to fill up a chest, to be ready.” 

“Oh, Therese, have you a lover?” 

“Non.'' Therese shook her head. “But I may have, 
some day. There will be people, men sent over to set- 
tle New France. The King has promised.” 

“Did you see M. Boulle, when he was here?” 

“Oh, yes. And a nice young man he is, too.” 

“I wish he had wanted to marry you. He is nice 
and good to look at. How could one marry Pierre 
Gaudrion, with his low brow and fierce eyebrows that 
meet over his nose, and his great hands, that seem 
made of lead, if he lays them on you ! Yet he is smart 
and ingenious.” 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


228 

‘^And they say now that he visits Anastase Fromont. 
She will make a good wife.” 

Rose gave a little shiver. She could recall one time, 
the last, when Pierre had laid his hand on both her 
shoulders and drawn her to him, and she had wrenched 
herself away, every drop of blood within her rising up 
in protest. 

“Don’t you dare to touch me again, or I will kill 
you,” she had flung out with blazing eyes. 

Then for weeks he had never so much as looked at 
her. 

“Yes,” retrospectively. “Why do people take likes 
the wrong way? Now if M. Boulle had ” 

“It is said he was wild for love of you,” interposed 
Therese. 

“That made the trouble. Miladi liked him so much. 
Therese, there is some kind of love we must have be- 
fore you can put yourself in a man’s hand, and let him 
take you to his home, where you must remain while 
life lasts. A whole long life, think of it! And if 
you wanted to get free the priest would forbid it. 
There would be nothing but to throw yourself into 
the river.” 

Therese looked with frightened eyes at the impetu- 
ous girl. 

“There is God to obey and serve. And if He sends 
you a good husband — M. Boulle was brother to our 
dear Sieur’s wife. It would have been an excellent 
marriage.” 


FROM A GIRL’S HEART 


229 

“If it hadst only been thou !” Rose’s short-lived pas- 
sion was over, and she was smiling. 

“But you see, Mam’selle, they are strong Catholics. 
I follow my mother’s faith, and we do not believe 
telling beads and saying prayers is all of the true ser- 
vice to the Lord. So it would never have done.” 

Rose was minded to laugh at the grave, satisfied 
tone, and the placid face. 

“I am not a good Catholic, either. I do not go to 
confession. I do not tell lies nor steal, and though 
I get in tempers, it is because people try me and insist 
that I should do what I know it would be wrong for 
me to do. I did not want any husband, and I said so.” 

“But all girls hope to marry some time. I should 
like to have as good a husband as my mother has, and 
be as happy with him.” 

“He is delightful,” admitted Rose. “But your 
mother loved him.” 

“He was chosen for her, and there was no good 
reason why she should not accept him. Yes, they 
have been very happy. But in France girls do not have 
a voice, and when the husband is chosen, they set them- 
selves about making every act and thought of theirs 
agreeable.” 

“But if he was — unworthy?” 

“Few parents would choose an unworthy lover, I 
think. They have the good of their children at heart.” 

Eustache Boulle had not been unworthy. He would 
bw married her, nameless, Her heart turned sud- 


230 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


denly tender toward him. She was learning that in 
the greater world there was a certain pride of birth, 
an honor in being well-born. She was better satisfied 
that she had not accepted Eustache. What if the 
Sieur had been opposed to it and Madame de Cham- 
plain frowned upon her? 

And then the Sieur returned, but he came alone. 
The house in the Rue St. Germain TAuxerrois, with 
Madame Boulle, was more attractive than the rough- 
ness of a half-civilized country. Even then Helene 
plead for permission to become a lay sister in a convent, 
which would have meant a separation, but he would not 
agree to this. Ten years after his death she entered the 
Ursuline Convent, and some years later founded one 
in the town of Meaux, endowing it with most of her 
fortune. And though the next summer Eustache re- 
newed his suit, he met with a firm refusal, and found 
the influence of his brother-in-law was against him. 

Rose had been brave enough to lay the matter be- 
fore him. 

“Little one,” he said, in the most fatherly tone — 
“if thou dost not love a man enough to give him thy 
whole soul, except what belongs to God, to desire to 
spend thy life with him, to honor and serve him with 
the best thou hast, then do not marry him. It is a bit- 
ter thing for a man to go hungry for love, when a wom- 
an has promised to hold the cup of joy to his lips.” 

Eustache then returned to France, and after a period 
of study and preparation, took holy orders, as a Friar. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A WAY OVER THORNS 

Champlain found on his arrival five Jesuit priests, 
who had received a poor welcome, even from their 
French brethren. The Recollets had offered them the 
hospitality of their convent, which had been gratefully 
accepted. So far not much advance had been made 
among the Indians, who seemed incapable of dis- 
cerning the spiritual side of religion, though they 
eagerly caught up any superstition. 

There had also come over a number of emigrants, 
two or three families, the others, men of no high de- 
gree, who had been tempted by the lure of a speedy 
fortune. It was a long, hard, cold winter, and throngs 
of Indians applied for relief. Champlain had estab- 
lished a farm at Beaupre, down the river, and stocked it 
with cattle he had imported. But for weeks every- 
thing was half-buried in snow. 

One morning M. Destournier came in. Rose was 
sitting by the fire in M. Hebert’s study and shop. The 
great fireplace was full of blazing logs, and she looked 
the picture, not only of comfort, but delight. She had 
not seen much of him for the month past. There was 
no opportunity for sledging even, the roads had been 
231 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


232 

so piled with snow. Then she had taken quite a do- 
mestic turn, much to the gratification of Madame 
Hebert. 

M. Destournier looked thin and careworn. Rose 
sprang up, deeply touched. 

“Oh, you are ill,” she cried. “I have not seen you 
in so long. Sit here in the warmth. And miladi?” 

She always inquired after her. 

“That is what I have come about. Rose, my dear 
child, can you forget enough of the past, and the long 
silence, to come back to us? Miladi wants you, 
needs you, has sent me to see. She is very ill, and 
lonely.” 

Rose flushed warmly, with both pain and pleasure, 
and her eyes softened, almost to tears. 

“I shall be glad to come.” There was a tremble of 
emotion in her voice. “I realize how great a disap- 
pointment it was to her, but you know I was right, and 
when I asked the Sieur if I had been too hasty, or un- 
just, he approved. He thinks no woman ought to 
marry without giving her whole heart, and somehow 
I had none to give,” blushing deeply and looking love- 
lier than ever. “I think it is because — ^because I am 
a foundling, and could not go to any man with honor. 
So I must make myself happy in my own way.” 

Her figure had taken on more womanly lines, though 
it was still slim and exquisitely graceful. And the 
girlish beauty had ripened somewhat, losing none of 
its olden charm. 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


233 


She colored still more deeply under his glance. 

'Is there anything new with miladi ?” she inquired, 
with some hesitation. 

"It seems a gradual wasting away and weakness. 
She thinks she will be better when spring opens, and 
longs to return to France. I am putting my aifairs in 
shape to make this possible. She is very lonely. She 
has missed your brightness and vivacity. It has 
seemed a different place.” 

Rose’s heart swelled with pity. She forgave Ma- 
dame from the depths of her heart, remembering only 
the old times and the tenderness. 

"When shall I come?” 

"At once. She begged for you last week, but I was 
afraid it was a restless fancy. The road is quite well 
broken. What a winter we have had! The drought 
last summer shortened crops, and there have been so 
many extra mouths to feed among the unfortunate 
Indians. So if ypu will inform the Heberts — I have 
seen Monsieur.” 

She went through to the kitchen, where mother and 
daughter were concocting savory messes for the sick. 
They both returned with her and expressed much sym- 
pathy for the invalid. M. Hebert had said to his wife 
that miladi was slowly nearing her end, while her real 
disease seemed a mystery, but medical lore in the new 
world had not made much advance. 

' "We shall only lend her to you for a while,” Ma- 
dame Hebert said, with a faint smile. "I hardly know 


234 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


how Monsieur will do without her. She is truly a rose- 
bloom in this dreary winter, that seems as if it would 
never end.” 

“And I want her to bloom for a while in the room 
where my poor sick wife has to stay. She longs for 
some freshness and sweetness,” he said, in a pleading 
tone. 

“She was rightly named,” said Madame, with a smile. 
“Her poor mother must have died, I am quite sure, 
for she could not have sent away such an adorable 
child. Even when Mere Dubray had her, she was 
charming, in her wild, eager ways, like a bird. The 
good God made her a living Rose, indeed, to show how 
lovely a human Rose could be.” 

She came in the room wrapped in her furs, her hood 
with its border of silver-fox framing in her face, that 
glowed with youth and health. 

“You have all been so good to me,” and her beauti- 
ful eyes were alight with gratitude. “I shall come in 
often, and oh, I shall think of you every hour in the 
day.” , 

“Do not forget the latest pattern of lacemaking,” 
added the practical, industrious Therese. 

It was glorious without, a white world with a sky of 
such deep blue it almost sparkled. Leafless trees 
stretched out long black or gray arms, and here and 
there a white birch stood up grandly, like some fair 
goddess astray. Stretches of evergreens suggested 
life, but beyond them hills of snow rising higher and 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


235 

higher, until they seemed lost in the blue, surmounted 
by a sparkling frost line. 

The paths had been beaten down — occasionally a 
tract around a doorway shovelled. It was hard and 
smooth as a floor. Destournier slipped her arm within 
his, and then gazed at her in surprise. 

'‘You must have grown. How tall you are. I won- 
der if I shall get accustomed to the new phase? I 
seem always to see the little girl who sat upon my knee. 
Oh, do you remember when you were ill at Mere Du- 
bray’s ?” 

“All my life comes to me in pictures. I sometimes 
think I can remember what was before the long sail in 
the boat, but it is so vague. Now it is all here, its 
rough ways, its rocks, its beautiful river are a part of 
me. I am never longing to go elsewhere. I am sorry 
Madame de Champlain did not love it as well. And 
the Sieur was such a good, tender husband.^’ 

Destournier sighed a little, also. The Sieur kept 
busy and full of plans, but occasionally there came a 
wistfulness in his eyes and a pain in the lines that were 
settling so rapidly about his face. 

They crunched over the icy paths. A time or two she 
slipped, and he drew her nearer, the touch of her 
body, though wrapped in its furs, giving him a deli- 
cious thrill. He lifted her up the steep ways he had 
seen her climb with the litheness of a squirrel. 

Wanamee came out with a fervent welcome. The 
old kitchen was the same. Pani was toasting him- 


236 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

self in his favorite corner. Mawha was doing Indian 
bead and feather work, and looked up with a cordial 
nod. 

^^Get good and warm. I will tell miladi you have 
come. You will find her much changed, but she does 
not like it remarked upon.” 

She and Wanamee were in an earnest talk when she 
was summoned. The room had in it some new ap- 
pointments, brought from France, but even a luxu- 
rious court beauty might have envied the rich fur rugs 
lying about and hanging over the rude and somewhat 
clumsy chairs of home manufacture. 

Pillowed up in a half-sitting posture in the bed was 
miladi. Rose could hardly forbear a shocked exclama- 
tion. When she had seen her every day, the changes 
had passed unremarked, for they had begun, even 
then. The lovely skin was yellowed and wrinkled and 
defined the cheek bones, the beautiful hair had grown 
dull, and the eyes had lost their lustre. All her youth 
was gone, she was an old lady, even before the time. 

And this vision of youthful, vigorous beauty was like 
a sudden sunburst, when the day had been dull and 
cloudy. She seemed to animate the room, to light up 
the farthest recesses, to bring a breath of revivifying 
air and hope. 

‘‘I have wanted you so,” the invalid said piteously. 
‘^Oh, how strong and well you are ! I never was very 
strong, and so the illness has taken a deeper hold on 
me. And now you must help me to get well. Your 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


237 

freshness will be an elixir — that is what I have wanted. 
Wanamee is good for a servant nurse, but I have 
needed something finer and better.” 

She held' out her hand and Rose pressed it to her 
lips. It was bony, showing swollen blue veins, and 
had a clammy coldness that struck a chill to the rosy 
lips. 

“Did you like them at the Heberts? They arc very 
staid people, and think only of work, I believe.” 

“They were very kind, and I found them well-in- 
formed about everything.” 

“Why, when they know so much, can they not cure 
-me? You know it is not as though my case was very 
serious. I am weak, that is all. The doctor came 
down from Tadoussac, but he just shook his head, and 
his powders did me no good. M. Hebert sent some 
extracts of herbs, but nothing gives me any strength. 
And the snow and cold stays on as if spring would 
never come. What have you been doing all this while ? 
You couldn't run about in the woods.” 

“Oh, Madame, I am outgrowing that wild longing, 
though the trees have a hundred voices, and I seem to 
understand what they say, and the song of the birds, 
the ripple and plash of the river. But I have been 
learning other things. How great the world is, and 
the stories of kings and queens, and brave travellers, 
who go about and discover new places. It widens one’s 
subjects of thought. And I have learned some cook- 
ing, and how to make home seem cheerful, and the 


238 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

weaving of pretty laces, like those the ships bring over. 
I am not so idle now.” 

“And you liked them very much ?” She uttered this 
rather resentfully. 

“Ah, Madame, how could one help, when people 
were so good, and took so much pains with one.” 

Her voice was sweet and appealing, yet it had a 
strand of strength and appreciation. ,But had she 
not been good to the little girl all these years ! 

“Has Mam’selle Therese any lover?” she asked, 
after a pause. 

“Not yet, Madame. Some old family friends are 
to come over in the summer, and one has a son that 
Therese played with in childhood. It may be that she 
will like him.” 

“And she will do as her parents desire !” 

“They are very just with her, and love her 
dearly.” 

“And the brother?” 

“He went to Mont Real before the hard cold. If 
there were only people to settle there it would be finer 
than Quebec, it is said.” 

“I am so tired of Quebec. Next summer we will go 
home; that is the country for me. M. Destournier is 
willing to go at last, and I shall see that he never re- 
turns to this dreary hole.” 

“It can hardly be called a hole, when there are so 
many heights all about,” laughed the girl. 

“It is a wretched place. And you will soon like 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


239 


France, and wonder how people are content to stay 
here. You see the Governor’s wife had enough of it. 
She had good sense.” 

'‘But, Madame, the priests teach that a wife’s place 
is beside her husband.” 

“What have I gained by staying beside mine, who 
is always planning how to civilize those wretched 
squaws, and make life better for them? The better 
should have been for me. And now I have lost my 
health, and my beautiful hair has fallen out and begins 
to turn white. Am I very much changed?” 

Rose was embarrassed. Years ago miladi hated the 
thoughts of growing old. 

“Illness tries one very much,” she said eva- 
sively. “But you will gain it up when you begin to 
mend.” 

“Oh, do you think so? You see I must get some- 
thing to restore the wasted flesh. How plump you 
are. And I had such an admirable figure. M. Laurent 
thought me the most graceful girl he had ever seen, 
had so many pretty compliments, and that keeps one 
in heart, spurs one on to new efforts. M. Destournier 
is not of that kind. He is cold-blooded, and seems 
more English than French.” 

Rose colored. The dispraise hurt her. 

“Fix my pillows, and put me down. I get so tired. 
And stir up the fire.” 

Rose did this very gently, smoothing out wrinkles, 
holding the cold hands in hers, so warm and full of 


240 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


strength. The room seemed smothering to her, but 
she stirred the fire vigorously, and sent a vivid shower 
of sparks upward. 

‘‘Now if you had a little broth ” 

“But I cannot bear to have you go away. Yes, I 
know I shall get stronger with you here.’^ 

“You need some nourishment. I will not be gone 
giving a heartsome smile. 

A gallery ran along this side of the house, built for 
miladi’s convenience. She stepped out on it, in the 
clear air and sunshine, and took a few turns. Poor 
Madame! Would she get well when she seemed so 
near dying? 

The broth was reviving. Rose fed her with a tea- 
spoon, instead of giving her the cup to drink from, 
and they both laughed like children. Then she ar- 
ranged the pillows and bathed the poor, wrinkled face 
and hair with some fragrant water, and miladi fell 
asleep under these ministrations. 

Rose moved lightly about the room, changing its as- 
pect with deft touches. She was glad to do something 
in return. Miladi had been very sweet when she was 
ill, and there had been the pleasant years when she 
had not minded the exactions. Was there really a 
plan to go to France? Would they take her from her 
beloved Quebec? 

M. Destournier brought in a book from the Gov- 
ernor's store and Rose read aloud in the evening. That 
was ?. restless time for miladi, but the sweet, cheerful 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


voice tranquillized her. M. Ralph sat in the corner of 
the wide stone fireplace, watching the changes in the 
lovely face, as she seemed to enter into the spirit of the 
adventures. Heroism appealed to her. The flush came 
and went in her cheek, her eyes sent out gleams of 
glory, and her bosom rose and fell. 

There came an instant of rapture to Ralph Des- 
tournier, that mysterious and almost sublime appre- 
ciation of a woman's love, a love such as this girl could 
give. He had possessed the childish affection, the in- 
nocent girlish fondness, but some other would win the 
woman's heart, the prize he would lay down his 
life for. What had been the pity and weak tender- 
ness was given to the woman in the bed yonder. He 
knew now she had only touched his heart in sympathy, 
and a fancied duty. In a thousand years she would 
never be capable of such love as this girl, blossoming 
into womanhood, could give. 

^^There should be some women at hand," declared a 
weak voice from the bed. “It adds an interest to the 
discoveries, to think, if a woman did not inspire it, she 
crowned it with her admiration. But for a party of 
men to go off alone " 

“The hardships would be too great for a woman." 

Destournier's voice was husky with repressed emo- 
tion. This girl would keep step and inspire an ex- 
plorer. 

“They would not take so many hardships then. 
What if there is a great river or ocean leading to 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


242 

India ! A man can live but one life, and that should be 
devoted to some woman.” 

He rose, crossed the room, and kissed his wife on 
the forehead. He learned by accident one day that she 
used something to keep her lips red with the lost bloom 
of youth, and they had never been sweet to him 
since. 

“Good-night. I hope you will sleep. Rose had bet- 
ter not read any more. We must not have all the 
good things in one day.” 

He ran down the steps to where a street had been 
straightened and widened in the summer. The moon- 
light gave everything a weird glow, the stars were 
tinted in all colors, as one finds in the clear cold of the 
north. Only the planets and the larger ones, the 
myriad of small ones were outshone. What beauty, 
what strength, what wonders lay hidden in the wide ex- 
panse. He was tempted to plunge into the wilderness, 
to the frozen north, to the blooming south, or that 
impenetrable expanse of the west, and leave behind the 
weak woman, who in her selfish way loved him, and 
the girl who could create a new life for him, that he 
could love with the force of manhood suddenly 
aroused, that had been clean and wholesome. He was 
glad of that, though he could not lay it at the girl’s 
feet. Miladi had been in this state so long, sometimes 
rallying, and in the summer they would go to France. 
But they would leave Rose of old Quebec behind. 

Over there at the fort a man sat poring over maps 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


243 


and papers, a solitary man now, who had wedded 
youth and beauty, and found only Dead Sea fruit. But 
he was going bravely on his way. That was a man’s 
duty. 

In a few days there was a decided improvement in 
miladi. She was dressed, and sat up part of the time. 
She evinced an eager resolve to get well, she put on a 
sort of childish brightness, that was at times pitiful. 
But nothing could conceal the ravages of time. She 
looked older than her years. She was, in a curious 
manner, drawing on the vitality of the young girl, and 
it was generously given. 

Then came to Rose a great sorrow. M. Hebert, who 
had been such an inspiring influence to her, died from 
the effects of a fall. There was a general mourning 
in the small settlement. The Governor felt he had 
lost one of his most trusty friends. The eldest 
daughter, Guillemette, who had married one Guillaume 
Couillard, came down from Tadoussac, and they took 
his place on the farm. Hers had been the first wedding 
in Quebec. 

Rose felt that this must change the home for her. 
She had counted on going back to them. There were 
days when she grew very tired of miladi’s whims and 
inanities, and longed to fly to her beloved wood. 

‘Tf I should die, he will marry her,” miladi thought 
continually. ‘T will not die. I will take her to France 
and marry her to some one before her beauty fades. 
She will make a sensation.” 


644 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


Rose never dreamed she was so closely watched. 
After that moonlight battle with himself, Destournier 
allowed his soul no further thought of the present 
Rose, but dreamed over the frank child-charm she had 
possessed for him. He grew grave and silent, and 
spent much of his time with the Sieur. 

Spring was very late. It seemed as if old Quebec 
would never throw off her ermine mantle. Richelieu 
was now at the helm in France, and that country and 
England were at war with each other. Quebec was 
looking forward to supplies and reinforcements that 
had been promised. 

From a cold and unusually dry May, they went into 
summer heats. The Sieur de Champlain spent much 
of his time getting his farm at Cape Tourmente in 
order. M. Destournier was engrossed with the im- 
provements of . the town, and keeping the Indians at 
work, who were, it must be confessed, notoriously 
lazy. Miladi complained. Rose grew weary. She 
missed her dear friend M. Hebert, and she was puzzled 
at the coldness and distance of M. Destournier. But the 
rambles were a comfort and a kind of balance to her 
life. She brought wild flowers to miladi, and the first 
scarlet strawberries. And there was always such an 
enchanting freshness after these excursions, that the 
elder woman liked her to take them. 

Richelieu understood better than any one yet the im- 
portance of this colony to France, when the English 
were making such rapid strides in the new world. He 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


245 


was planning extensive improvements in colonizing, 
and fitting out ships with stores and men. 

The news came to Cape Tourmente that vessels had 
been sighted. Word was sent on to Quebec, and there 
was a general rejoicing. 

But it was soon turned to terror and anguish. Some 
savages came paddling furiously to the town, and 
though the cries were indistinguishable at first, they 
soon gathered force. 

“The English have burned and pillaged Cape Tour- 
mente, and are at Tadoussac ! Save yourselves. Man 
the fort. Call all to arms !” 

Alas ! The fort was considerably out of repair. The 
Indians had been peaceable for some time and the 
mother country had kept them short of supplies. The 
walled settlement was protection from marauding 
bands, and the fort could have been made impregnable 
if the Governor had carried out his plans and not been 
hampered by the lack of all-needed improvements. 

The farmer at Cape Tourmente had been slightly 
wounded, and was brought down with the boat, on 
which several had escaped. The buildings had been 
burned, the cattle killed, the crops laid waste. No 
doubt they were now pillaging Tadoussac. 

Champlain began to prepare for defense with all the 
force available. Musket^ were loaded, cannon trained 
down the river, the fort manned. Friendly Indians 
offered their services. All was wild alarm, the blow 
was so unexpected. 


246 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


Miladi, hearing the noise and confusion, explained 
it her way. 

“It is always so when the horde of traders come in,’’ 
she said. She had been looking over old finery, and 
getting ready for a return to France. 

The little convent on the St. Charles was prepared to 
repel any surprise. But at mid-afternoon a boat hov- 
ered about in the river, and it was learned presently 
that it conveyed some captives taken by the English, 
who were sent with a letter from the commander of 
the fleet, that now appeared quite formidable, with its 
six well-manned vessels. 

The Governor at once called together the leading 
men of the place and laid before them the summons 
of surrender, and the first news of the war between 
France and England. It was couched in polite terms, 
but contained a well-laid plan. In all, eighteen ships 
had been despatched by His Majesty, the King of Brit- 
ain. Several small stations had been captured, also a 
boat with supplies from France, and all resources were 
to be cut off. By surrendering they would save their 
homes and property, and be treated with the utmost 
courtesy, but it was the intention of the English to take 
the town, although they preferred to do it without 
bloodshed. 

It was quite a lengthy document, and Champlain 
read it slowly, that each sentence might be well consid- 
ered. The hard winter, the late spring, the supplies at 
Cape Tourmente and Tadoussac being cut off, ren- 


1 


A WAY OVER THORNS 


247 


dered them in no situation for a prolonged struggle. 
But they would not yield so easily to the demand of 
the English. They had the courage of men who had 
undergone many hardships, and the pride of their na- 
tion. Quebec had been the child of the Sieur de Cham- 
plain’s work and love. With one voice they resolved 
to refuse, and the word was sent to Captain David 
Kirke. 

He meanwhile turned his fleet down the river, fan- 
cying the town an easy prey, when he espied the relief 
stores sent from France, a dozen or so vessels, bringing 
colonists, workmen, priests, women, and children, and 
farming implements, as well as stores, convoyed by a 
man-of-war. It was a rich prize for the Englishman, 
and an order for surrender was sent, which was re- 
fused. 

The battle was indeed disastrous for Quebec, though 
they were not to know it until months afterward. Most 
of the emigrants Captain Kirke despatched back to 
France, some of the least valuable vessels he burned, 
and sailed home with his trophies, leaving Quebec for 
another attempt. 

Meanwhile the little colony waited in ill-defined ter- 
ror. Day after day passed and no attack was made. 
Then they ventured to send out some boats and found 
to their surprise the river was clear of the enemy, but 
every little settlement had been laid waste. The stock 
of food was growing low, the crops were not promising. 
Every consignment sent from France had miscarried. 


248 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

and since the two nations were at war there was small 
hope of supplies. What would they do in winter? 
Already the woods were scoured for nuts and edible 
roots, and stores were hidden away with trembling 
hands. There were many plans discussed. If they 
could send part of their people out to find a Basque 
fishing fleet, and thus return home. 

No heart was heavier than that of the Sieur de 
Champlain. To be sure there was his renown as a dis- 
coverer and explorer, but the city he had planned, that 
was to be the crowning point of France’s possessions, 
was slowly falling to decay. 


CHAPTER XV 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’s GRASP 

These were sad times for old Quebec and for the little 
girl who was blossoming into a womanhood that should 
have been joyous and serene, she asked so little of 
life. 

When the news of the reverse and the loss of the 
stores reached them, they were still more greatly bur- 
thened by the influx from Tadoussac and the settle- 
ments around. Then, too, the wandering Indians joined 
in the clamor for food. Trade was stopped. Mont 
Real took the furs and disposed of them in other chan- 
nels. No one knew how many English vessels were 
lying outside, ready to confiscate anything valuable. 

Madame Destournier was in a state of ungovern- 
able terror. 

‘'Why should we stay here and be murdered?” she 
would cry. “Or starve to death! Let us return to 
France, as we planned. Am I of not as much consid- 
eration as an Indian squaw, that 3^ou all profess so 
much anxiety for?” 

“It would not be prudent to cross the ocean now,” 
her husband said. “We might be taken prisoners and 


249 


250 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

carried to England. You are in no state to face hard- 
ships.” 

^‘As if I did not face them continually ! Oh, I should 
have gone at once, when Laurent died. And if the 
English take the town, where will be the fortune he 
struggled for ! I wish I had never seen the place.” 

^ She would go on bewailing her hard fate until ut- 
terly exhausted. There were days when she would not 
let Rose out of her sight, except when her husband 
entered the room. It was well that he had a motive 
of the highest honor, to hold himself well in hand, 
though there were times when his whole heart went 
out in pity for Rose. Was there another soul in the 
world that would have been so pitiful and tender ? 

Eustache Boulle had come from Tadoussac, since so 
little could be done toward rehabilitating that, and 
p ‘oved himself a most worthy compatriot to Cham- 
plain. Rose was sorely troubled at first, but she soon 
found that miladi no longer cared for the marriage. 
She was too selfish to think of losing one who was so 
useful to her. The girl’s vigor and vivacity were a daily 
tonic to her. Would she sap the strength out of this 
splendid creature? Ralph Destournier wondered, with 
a pang. Yet to interfere was not possible. He under- 
stood the jealous nature, that if given the slightest 
ground would precipitate an esclandre. 

Among the Indians flocking in was Savignon, who 
had gone to France years before with Champlain, and 
who had been in demand as an interpreter. He had 


HELD IN AN ENEMY S GRASP 


251 


spent a year or two up at the strait, where there was 
quite a centre, and the priests had established a sta- 
tion, and gone further on to the company’s outpost. 
An unusually fine-looking brave, with many of the 
white man’s graces, that had not sunk deep enough 
to be called real qualities. But they were glad to see 
him, and gave him a warm welcome. 

And now what was to be done? All supplies being 
cut off, the grain fields laid in ruin, the crops failing, 
how were they to sustain themselves through the win- 
ter ? Various plans were suggested. One of the most 
feasible, though fraught with danger, was to lead a 
party of Algonquins against the Iroquois, and capture 
some of their villages. The tribe had proved itself 
deceitful and unfriendly on several occasions. The 
Algonquins were ready for this. Another was to ac- 
cept the proffer of a number settled at Gaspe, who had 
been warm friends with Pontgrave, and who would 
winter about twenty of the suffering people. 

Ralph Destournier offered to head the expedition, 
as it needed a person of some experience to restrain the 
Indians, and good judgment in not wasting supplies, 
if any could be found. Savignon consented to accom- 
pany them, and several others who were weary of the 
suffering around them and preferred activity. They 
would be back before winter set in if they met with 
any success. 

Destournier planned that his wife should be made 
comfortable while he was gone. At first she protested, 


252 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

then she sank into a kind of sullen silence. She had 
seemed stronger for some weeks. 

Rose had gone for her daily walk late in the after- 
noon. She read miladi to sleep about this time an^' 
was sure of an hour to herself. She was feeling the se 
vere drain upon her quite sensibly, and though she 
longed to throw herself on a couch of moss and study 
the drifting clouds in the glory of the parting day, 
when the sun had gone behind the hills and the wake of 
splendor was paling to softer colors ; lavender and pale 
green, that mingled in an indescribable tint, for which 
there could be no name. There was a little coolness in 
the air, but the breath of the river was sweet and re- 
vived her. Many of the leaves had dried and fallen 
from the drought, yet the juniper and cedar were blu- 
ish-green in the coming twilight, with their clusters 
of berries frostily gray. 

But she walked on. There was a craving in her 
heart for a change, a larger outlook. It would not be in 
marrying M. Boulle, though more than once when she 
had surprised his eyes bent wistfully upon her, a pang 
of pity for him had gone to her heart. Could she 
spend years waiting on miladi, whose strength of will 
kept her alive. Or was it that horrible fear of death ? 
If it was true as the priests taught — oh, yes, it must 
be. God could not be so cruel as to put creatures in 
this world to toil and suffer, and then drop back to 
dust, to nothingness. Even the Indians believed in 
another sphere, in their crude superstitious fashion, 


HELD IN AN ENEMY S GRASP 


253 


and there must be some better place as a reward for 
the pain here that was not one’s own fault. She loved 
to peer beyond the skies as she thought, and to drift 
midway between them and the grand woods, the 
changeful sea. What if one floated off and never 
came back ! 

There was a step beside her, and she drew a long 
breath, though she was not alarmed, for she almost 
felt a presence, and turned, waited. 

“Rose,” the voice said, “I have wanted to find you 
alone. I have several things to say. I have promised 
to go on this expedition because I felt it was necessary. 
You will not blame me. I have made all arrangements 
for you and miladi, and I shall be back before the 
real cold weather sets in. I only pray that we may 
be successful.” 

“Yes,” she said under her breath, yet in vague sur- 
prise. 

“It is a hard burthen to lay upon you. Do not 
imagine I have not seen it. At first I thought it only 
the restless whim of failing health, but I believe she 
loves you as much as she can love any human being. 
I realize now that she should have gone to her own 
sunny France long ago. She is formed for pleasure 
and brightness, variety, and to have new people about 
her when she exhausts the old. I should not have 
married her, but it seemed the best step then. I truly 
believed ” 

No, he would not drag his weak justification before 


254 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


this pure, sweet girl, though he had almost said ‘‘I be- 
lieved she loved me.” And he had learned since that 
she loved no one but her own self. Laurent Giffard 
had never awakened to the truth. But he had taken 
the best of her youth. 

“Oh, you must know that I am glad to make some 
return for all your kindness in my childhood. And 
she was sweet and tender. I think it is the illness that 
has changed her. Oh, I can recall many delightful 
hours spent with her. I should be an ingrate if I could 
not minister to her now of my best.” 

“You could never be an ingrate,” he protested. 

“I hope not,” fervently. 

“I count confidently on returning. I can’t tell why, 
for we shall risk the fate of war, but I can almost see 
myself here again in the old place. Like our beloved 
Commandant I, too, have dreams of what Quebec can 
be made, a glorious place to hand down to posterity. 
Meanwhile you will care for her as you do now, and 
comfort her with your many pleasant arts. I am a man 
formed for business and active endeavor, and cannot 
minister in that manner. Perhaps Providence did not 
intend me for a husband, and I have thwarted the will 
of Providence.” 

There was a humorous strain in his voice at the last 
sentence. 

“Oh, you need not fear but that I will do my best. 
And I, too, shall look for your home-coming, believe 
in it, pray for it.” 


HELD IN AN ENEMY S GRASP 


255 


“The women will remain, and Pani will serve you to 
the uttermost. When this weary time is ended, and 
we are in better condition, you will have your reward.” 

“I do not want any reward, it is only returning what 
has been given.” 

He knew many things miladi had grudged her, 
most of all the home, since it was of his providing 
and intent. 

They wandered on in silence for some time. Both 
hearts were too full for commonplace talk, and he did 
not dare venture out of safe lines. He could not pre- 
tend to fatherly love, even that cloaked by brotherli- 
ness would be but a sham, he knew. He had his own 
honor to satisfy, as well as her guilelessness. 

Now it was quite dark. 

“Oh, I must go back. It has been so pleasant that 
I have loitered. Let us run down this slope.” 

She held out her hand, and he took it. They 
skimmed over the ground like children. Then there 
were the steps to climb, but she was up the first. 

“Good-night.” She waved her white hand, and he 
saw it in the darkness. 

“The saints bless and keep you.” 

She ran over to the level and then up again toward 
the kitchen end. There was a savory smell of sup- 
per. A moose had been killed and divided around. 

“Oh, how delightful! Is there enough for two 
bites? One will not satisfy me. But I must see 
miladi.” 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


256 

“No,” interposed Wanamee. “I took in a cup of 
broth, but she was soundly asleep. Have some steak 
while it is hot. The saints be praised for a mouthful 
of decent food.” 

Yes, it was good. Pani watched with eager, hun- 
gry eyes and lips aquiver. Rose felt almost con- 
science-smitten that she should have been satisfied 
first. 

“Was there much to be divided ?” she asked of him. 

“He was a noble, big fellow. And they have gone 
up in the woods for deer.” 

Miladi was still asleep when she entered the room. 
She held the lamp a little close with a sudden fear, 
but she saw the tranquil movement of her chest and 
was reassured. There was a young moon coming up, 
a golden crescent in a sky of flawless blue. It was too 
small to light the savage cliifs, but she could hear the 
plash of the incoming tide that swirled along with 
the current of the river. If the English came, what 
then? 

It was near ten when miladi woke. 

“What time is it?” she asked. “Not quite morning, 
for it is dark. I have had such a splendid sleep. Why, 
I feel quite well.” 

She sat up in the bed. 

“Come and bathe my face. Rose. Do you know 
whether Madame Hebert has the recipe of this fra- 
grant water? Mine is nearly gone. It is so refresh- 
ing.” 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’S GRASP 


257 

“I am quite sure she has. You have had no supper. 
There is some tasty meat broth.” 

^T'm tired of pease and greens, and make-believe 
things that don’t nourish you at all. And there was 
such nice fish. Why do they not get some ? The river 
certainly hasn’t dried up.” 

“No, Madame,” in almost a merry tone, as if it 
might take the edge off of complaining. ‘‘But there 
is such a scarcity of hooks. Petit Gabou is making 
a net of dried grass that he thinks will answer the pur- 
pose. And we have always had such a plentiful sup- 
ply of fish.” 

The broth was very nourishing. Then Rose must sit 
with both of miladi’s hands in hers, so warm and soft, 
hers being little beside bone and joints. She talked 
of France and her youth, when she was a pretty girl, 
just out of the convent, and went to Paris. “You will 
like it so much. I can hardly wait for the summer to 
come. I shall not mind if Monsieur has so much busi- 
ness on hand that he cannot leave,” and her tone had 
a little mocking accent. “When men get older they 
lose their nice ways of compliment and grace. They 
care less for their wives. Even M. de Champlain does 
not fret after his, who is no doubt enjoying herself 
finely. She was wise not to return.” 

The slim, golden crescent had wandered away to 
other worlds, and the stars grew larger and brighter 
in their bed of blue. She watched them through the 
open window. A screen was set up so that no draught 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


258 

should annoy miladi. Presently she fell asleep again, 
and Rose stole to her own couch, the other side of the 
screen, where she could still watch the stars. 

Savignon had come in with news. The Algonquins 
knew of a storehouse of the Iroquois, who had gone on 
the war-path, and would hardly be back for a whole 
moon. It would be best to start at once, and they be- 
gan preparations. Some of the Indian women volun- 
teered, they were used to carrying burthens. Bags 
were packed up. They trusted to find most of their 
food upon the route. 

Miladi took the parting tranquilly. M. Ralph had 
spent weeks on exploring expeditions. If there was 
any danger in this, she did not heed it. She held up 
her face to be kissed, and he noted how dry and 
parched the lips were. 

He gave a brief good-bye to Rose, who was stand- 
ing near. 

''Surely, he does not care for women,” Miladi 
thought exultingly. "Even her fresh, young beauty is 
nothing to him. He has no tender, eager soul.” 

Rose went down to the plateau to see the 
start. 

"You are much interested, Mam’selle?” Savignon 
said. "Give us the charm of your thoughts and pray- 
ers.” 

"You have both, most truly.” What a fine, stal- 
wart fellow Savignon was, lighter than the average, 
and picturesque in his Indian costume, though he often 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’S GRASP 


259 

wore the garb of civilization. French had become to 
him almost a mother tongue. 

Yet Rose wondered a little if it was right to rob the 
storehouse where the industrious Indians had been 
making preparations for the coming winter. Was it 
easier for one race to starve than another? 

‘‘And wish us a safe return.’' 

The look in his eyes disconcerted her for an instant. 
Her own drooped. She was acquiring a woman’s wis- 
dom. 

‘T do that most heartily,” she made answer, turn- 
ing aside; but the admiration lingered over her fine, 
yet strong figure, with its grace of movement. The 
beautiful eyes haunted him, if they were turned away. 

Such forays were not uncommon among the tribes. 
The Iroquois had planted more than one storehouse 
in the wilderness, in most secluded places. It saved 
carrying burthens, as they wandered about, or if in 
desperate weather, they set up their wigwamsy and 
remained eating and sleeping, until hunger drove them 
elsewhere. 

A ship had come down from Acadia with news that 
several English vessels were hovering about. They 
offered to take some of the women and children, and 
M. de Champlain was thankful for this. By spring 
there must be some change in affairs. The mother 
country could not wholly forget them. 

Rose wondered at times that miladi remained so 
tranquil. She slept a great deal, and it was an im- 


26 o a little girl IN OLD QUEBEC 

mense relief. It seemed occasionally that her mind 
wandered, though it was mostly vague mutterings. 

Once she said quite clearly — “I will not have the 
child. You will come to love her better than you do 
me.” 

Then she opened her eyes and fixed them on Rose, 
with a hard, cold stare. 

'‘Go away,” she cried. "Go a\yay. I will not have 
you here to steal his love from me. You are only a 
child, but one day you will be a woman. And I shall 
be growing old, old ! A woman’s youth ought to come 
back to her for a brief while.” 

Rose’s heart swelled within her. Was this why 
miladi had taken such queer spells, and sometimes 
been unkind to her for days ? And M. Destournier had 
always stood her friend. 

Yet she felt infinitely sorry for miladi, and that 
calmed her first burst of indignation. She went out 
to the forest to walk. The withered leaves lay thick 
on the ground, they had not been as beautiful as in 
some autumns, the drought had turned them brown 
too soon. The white birches seemed like lovely ghosts 
haunting the darkened spaces. Children were digging 
for fallen nuts, even edible roots, and breaking off 
sassafras twigs. What would they do before spring, 
if relief did not come ! 

Suppose she went away with the next vessel that 
came in. But then she had promised. Oh, yes, she 
must look after miladi, just as carefully as if there 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’S GRASP 261 

were depths of love between them. How did she come 
to know so much about love? Surely she had never 
loved any one with her whole soul. Neither had she 
craved an overwhelming affection. But now the world 
seemed large, and strange, and empty to her. She 
rustled the leaves under her feet, as if they made a 
sort of company in the loneliness. Perhaps it would 
not have been so bad to have taken M. Boulle’s love. 
If only love did not mean nearness, some sacred rites, 
kisses. She felt if she raised her hand in permission 
it might still be hers. No, no, she could not take it, 
and she shivered. Why, it was nearly dark, and cold. 
She must run to warm her blood. 

She came in bright and glowing, her eyes in cordial 
shining. 

*‘Thank the Holy Mother that you have come,” cried 
Mawha. “Miladi has been crying and going on and 
saying that you have deserted her. Wanamee could 
not comfort her. Run, quick.” 

Miladi was sobbing as if her heart would break. 
Rose bent over her, smoothed her brow and hair, 
chafed the cold hands. 

''The way was so long and dark,” she cried, "such 
a long, long path. Will I have to go all alone?” and 
Rose could feel the terrified shiver. 

"You will not have to go anywhere,” began the 
girl, in a soothing tone. "I shall stay here with you.” 

"But you were gone,” complainingly. 

"I will not go again.” 


262 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“Then sit here and hold my hands. I think it was 
a dream. I am not going to die. I am really better. 
I walked about to-day. Is there word from Monsieur ? 
You know we are going to France in the summer. Do 
you know what happens when one dies ? IVe seen the 
little Indian babies die. Do you suppose they really 
have souls?’’ 

“Every one born in the world has. The priest will 
tell you.” Rose gained a little courage. “Perhaps you 
would like to see Father Jamay.” 

“I went to confession a long while ago. The priest 
wanted my French books. M. Ralph said I need not 
give them up. I prayed to the Virgin. I prayed for 
many things that did not come. But we will go to 
France, M. Ralph promised, and he never breaks his 
word, so I do not need to pray for that. I am cold. 
Cover me up warm, and get something for my feet. 
Then sit here and put your arms around me. Promise 
me you will never go away again.” 

“I promise” — in a sweet, soft tone. 

Then she sat on the side of the bed and placed her 
arm about the shoulders. How thin they were. 

“Sing something. The silence frightens me.” 

Rose sang, sometimes like a chant, lines she could 
recall that had a musical sound. The leaning figure 
grew heavier, the breathing was slow and tranquil. 
Wanamee came in. 

“Help me put her down,” Rose said, for she was 
weary with the strained position. 


HELD IN AN ENEMY'S GRASP 263 

They laid her down tenderly, without waking 
her. 

“Stay with me,” pleaded Rose. “You know when I 
went away M. Destournier used to come in. I do not 
like to leave her alone.'' 

“It is curious," exclaimed Wanamee. “This morn- 
ing she seemed so well, and walked about. Then she 
sinks down. How long she has been ill, this way." 

Rose wanted to ask a solemn question, but she did 
not dare. Presently Wanamee dozed off, but Rose 
watched until the eastern sky began to show long levels 
of light. There seemed an awesome stillness in the 
room. 

“Wanamee," she said faintly. 

The woman rose and looked at the figure on the bed, 
standing some seconds in silence. 

“Go out quietly, ma fille, and find Mawha. Send 
her in." Then she turned Rose quite around, and the 
girl uttered no question. 

“What is the matter?" asked Pani. “Mam'selle, you 
are white as a snowdrift." 

“I think miladi is dead," and she drew a long, 
strangling breath, her figure trembling with unknown 
dread. 

Pani bowed and crossed himself several times. 

Wanamee came in presently. “The poor lady is 
gone," she said reverently. “She was so afraid of 
dying, and it was just like a sleep. Pani, you must row 
up to the convent at once, and ask some of the fathers 


264 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

to come down. Stop first at the fort and tell the Gov- 
ernor.” 

That Madame Destournier should die surprised no 
one, but it was unexpected, for all that. It appeared 
to accentuate the other sorrows and anxieties. And 
that M. Destournier should be away seemed doubly 
sad. Two of the priests came down with Pani, and 
held some services over the body. Her ill health was 
the excuse of her not having paid more attention to the 
offices of the Church, that so far had not flourished at 
all well. The convent was really too far, and the 
chapel service had waned since the departure of Ma- 
dame de Champlain. 

When Rose gained courage to go into the room 
where a few tapers were dimly burning, she lost her fear 
in an instant. It was a thin and wrinkled face, but it 
had a certain placid sweetness that often hallows it, 
when pain and fear are ended. Rose pressed her lips 
to the cold forehead, and breathed a brief prayer that 
miladi had found entrance to a happier land. A new 
thought took possession of her. Miladi belonged 
wholly to Laurent Gififard now. The tie that bound 
her to M. Destournier was broken, and it was as if it 
had never been. She remembered he had once said he 
would relinquish her in that other country. She had 
simply been given to him in her sorrow, to care for a ^ 
brief while. And how grandly he had done it. Rose 
was too just, perhaps with some of the incisive energy 
of youth, to cover up miladi’s faults at once. If she 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’S GRASP 265 

had been grateful to him for his devotion she would 
have thought more tenderly of love. Yet she expe- 
rienced a profound pity. 

There had been set aside a burial plot, one end for 
the white inhabitants. Thither the body was taken, 
and laid beside her true husband, with the rites of the 
Church. M. de Champlain headed the procession, but 
on the outskirts there was a curious throng. 

The Heberts pressed their hospitality upon Rose, 
but even they were in great straits. Then Wanamee 
was less superstitious than most of her race, and made 
no demur at remaining in the house, if Rose desired 
to stay. It was home to the girl, and she could almost 
fancy the better part of miladi’s spirit hovered about 
it, released from suffering. 

How would M. Destournier take it? Would he 
regret he had not been here? 

Day after day they waited the return of the party. 
Had there been a battle? Sometimes Rose felt as if 
she must join them, the suspense seemed the hardest 
of all to endure. 

At last most of the Indians returned, with bags and 
blankets of supplies. There had been no battle. They 
had come unexpectedly upon a storehouse, cunningly 
hidden in the wood. There were no guards about. So 
they had entered, and after satisfying their hunger, 
packed corn and dried meats, onions, which would be 
a great treat, and n’lts. They divided the party, and 
sent one relay on ahead, to travel as fast as pos- 


2 66 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

sible, with the good news, and relieve the famishing 
people. 

Quebec greeted them with the wildest joy. Savi- 
gnon headed this party. They had two days’ start, 
and though the ground was frozen, there had been no 
deep snow to prevent the others from a tolerably com- 
fortable march. They would no doubt be in soon. It 
seemed a large addition to their scanty store. A great 
joy pervaded the little colony. 

Two days passed, then a third. A party, headed by 
Savignon, went out to meet them. They found a few 
men, dragging and carrying weary loads. There had 
been an accident to M. Destournier. He had stumbled 
into an unseen pitfall and broken his leg. They had 
carried him on a litter for two days, then he had 
begged the others to leave him with an attendant, 
and hurry onward, coming back for him as soon as 
possible. 

Rose was all sympathy and anxiety. She flew to 
one of the half-breeds, who had borne the litter. Was 
there much injury beside the broken leg? 

“He was a good deal shaken up, but he knew what to 
do about bandaging, and he uttered no groans. But 
when he attempted to walk the next morning he died 
for a few moments, as your women sometimes do. 
And when he came to life, they made the litter. He was 
very brave. So we rigged up a sort of tent in the 
woods, as he insisted on being left.” 

The Commandant ordered that a party be formed 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’S GRASP 267 

at once to rescue him. They could not allow him to 
perish there in the wilderness. He might be ill. 

“He might die/’ Rose said to herself. And then 
an intense ungovernable longing came over her to see 
him once again. Women could minister to him better 
than men. And if Wanamee and Pani would go. Pani 
had been so much with women that he had lost many 
of the virile Indian traits. 

Yes, they would go, but Wanamee did not quite ap- 
prove of the journey. No one could tell how deep 
a snow would set in. 

“But it will be only a six days’ journey, and most 
of it through the forests. Savignon will be an excel- 
lent guide. And no one must speak of the great sor- 
row that awaits him here.” 

M. de Champlain opposed the plan. It was too 
severe for women. But curiously enough Savignon 
said — “The blossom of Quebec is no dainty flower, to 
be crushed by wind and storm. If she wants to go, 
I am on her side.” 

When Rose heard this she flew out to thank him, 
catching one hand in both of hers, her eyes luminous 
with gladness. 

“Oh, I cannot truly thank you. Monsieur. I must 
go, even if I ran away and followed on behind. And 
I am no delicate house-plant.” 

“Thou art a brave girl,” admiringly. “Thou hast 
been used to woods and rocks, and art strong and 
courageous.” 


268 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


To be called monsieur was one of Savignon’s great 
delights. He had tired not a little of the roughness of 
savage life, and though he had caressed pretty Indian 
maidens he had never been much in love with them. 
And this girl was different from most of the white 
women. The courage in every line of her face, the 
exuberant bounding life that flushed her veins, her 
straight lithe figure, and the grace of every movement, 
appealed strongly to him. 

“Thou wilt find it hard going, Mam’selle, keeping 
step to the men, and sleeping in the woods. But three 
days are soon spent, and we need not march back so 
hastily. Our women have stood more than that.” 

“You will see how much I can stand,” she answered 
proudly. She believed the admiring eyes were for her 
courage alone. 

Go she must. She did not stop to question. There 
was only one thing uppermost in her mind. If he died 
she must see him ; if he lived, she must wait upon him. 
comfort him in his sorrow, for although in a vague way 
she knew he had not come up to the highest joy in his 
marriage, any more than her dear Sieur de Cham- 
plain, he had cared very tenderly for miladi, and 
would sorrow to know her shut out of life. And it 
had been so quiet at the last, just falling asleep. Her 
arms had been around her, her voice the last sound 
miladi had heard. He would rejoice in his sorrow 
that all had been so tranquil. 

Rose and Wanamee came down in their robes of fur, 


HELD IN AN ENEMY’S GRASP 269 

with their deerskin frocks underneath. Rose’s cap 
had its visor turned up and it framed in her beautiful 
face. Her hair fell in loose curls, the way she had 
always worn it, and the morning sun sent golden 
gleams amongst it. There was a small crowd to wish 
them God-speed. 

The horses that De Champlain had brought over and 
a few mules that had been at Cape Tourmente were 
carried off in the English raid. True, they would not 
have been of much account in the overgrown brush of 
the wilderness. 

“Mam’selle,” Savignon said, after an hour or two, 
‘'do not hurry ahead so. You will tire before night.” 

‘T feel as if I could run, or fly,” she made answer, 
and she looked so. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 

The weather was splendid, the sky cloudless, the air 
scented with the resinous fragrance of cedar, fir, and 
pine. They paused for a midday lunch and then kept 
on until dark. In a clearing in an almost impenetrable 
forest they paused, built a fire, and prepared to camp. 
Savignon drew some young saplings together and 
filled up the interstices with boughs, ordering smaller 
ones inside that a sort of bed should be raised off the 
ground. One of the men had shot some squirrels, and 
their broiling over the coals was appetizing. 

“You and Wanamee will be quite safe,” the guide 
said. “We shall wrap in our blankets and sleep about 
the fire. If you hear the cry of wolves, do not be 
alarmed.” 

“How good you are,” Rose returned, her eyes glo- 
rious with grateful emotions. “M. Destournier will 
never forget your service. It cannot be rewarded.” 

“Mam^selle, a man would give his life for your pleas- 
ure. Sleep well and do not fear.” 

And sleep she did, with the slumber of youth and 
health. Naught came to alarm them. 

Their second day’s journey was uneventful, though 
270 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 


271 


it was not so clear and sunny, and again they camped 
for the night. Was there only one day more ? Rose’s 
heart beat with alternate fear and joy. Indeed, they 
might meet the cavalcade on the way. 

She w'ould not admit fatigue, indeed she did not 
feel it. Her grand hope gave lightness to her step 
and color to her cheeks, which were like a delicious 
opening rose, and you were fain to declare they had 
the same fragrance. When she talked to Wanamee, 
Savignon did not listen for any girlish secrets, but 
simply the music of her voice. That day some bird 
astray in the forest gave his whistle, perhaps to his 
mate, and she answered it with the most enchanting 
music. He came so near they could hear the flutter 
of his wings. Cadotte started up with his gun. 

“You shall not kill it !” she cried. “Do you think I 
would lure a bird to such a cruel, treacherous death !” 

Her face was bewitching in its indignation. What 
spirit, what strength of purpose shone in it! 

“He will freeze before spring, Mam’selle,” Cadotte 
returned sullenly. 

“Then let him die as the good God intends.” 

“Mam’selle, I never heard a human voice so like 
a bird’s,” Savignon declared, in a tone of admiration. 
“Do you know other voices that range in Quebec?” 

She laughed, her present anger vanishing. 

“I used to tame them when I was a child. They 
would come at my call. I loved them so. And a tame 
deer knew my voice and followed me.” 


<72 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


anything would. Mam’selle, sing or whistle, 
and it will make our steps lighter. Among the Bos- 
tonnais they march to music not as sweet as thine.” 

She was glad to give them pleasure. 

The last day seemed long indeed, to her. Once 
they mistook the path and had to pick their way back. 
Savignon’s acute eyes told him another party had 
crossed it, and he went on warily. 

Presently, in the coming darkness, two scouts ran 
on ahead. 

'‘Art thou tired, Mam’selle ?” asked the well-modu- 
lated voice that had lost the guttural Indian tone. 

“Not tired, but impatient. Do you suppose we have 
missed them? What if they should have started in 
some other direction?” 

“I hardly think that. I have expected to meet them. 
M. Destournier must have been more disabled than 
we supposed. But we shall soon know.” 

Oh, what if he were dead! A blackness fell over 
everything. She caught Wanamee’s arm for support. 
It was growing so dark they kept closer together. 
The dead leaves rustled under their feet, now and 
then in an opening they saw the sky in the soft, whit- 
ish-gray tints before it turns to blue. 

There was a shrill, prolonged whistle. 

“They are coming back with news.” Savignon 
guessed it was not cheering. He answered through 
his fingers. 

The two scouts came hurrying forward. 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 


273 


“They are gone. They must have taken some other 
road. The campfire is out, the stones are missing. 
What shall we do?” 

Rose gave a soft, appealing cry, that she vainly 
strove to restrain. 

“We had better go on. We must stop for the night. 
It is too dark to find their trail.” 

It seemed to Rose as if she would sink to the ground 
with indescribable terror. 

“Oh, do you think ” She caught Savignon’s 

arm. 

“They have started on and missed the trail,” he 
replied, in an almost indifiFerent tone, but he guessed 
in his heart there had been some surprise. “We must 
find the old place and camp for the night. To-morrow 
we will seek out the trail.” 

“You do not think there can have been ” Her 

voice faltered for very fear. 

“We had best think nothing. We should no doubt 
come wide of the mark. Let us push on,” to the men. 

There were heavy hearts and slow steps. It seemed 
as if it must be midnight when they reached the clear- 
ing, though it was not that late. They built their fire. 
Cadotte and Savignon took a survey. 

“Another party has been here,” Cadotte exclaimed, 
in a whisper. “There has been a struggle. They are 
carried off somewhere.” 

“Do not speak of it to-night. The women are tired. 
And Mam’selle will have a thousand fears.” 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


274 

They found the others busy with fire and supper. 
Rose sat apart, her face buried in her hands, a thou- 
sand wild fears chasing one another through her 
mind. Life would be dreary if — if what? If he were 
dead? Had he suffered long with no one to cheer? 
Or had he been suddenly despatched by some maraud- 
ing party? Then they would find his poor body. Yes, 
to-morrow they would know all. 

She did not want any supper and crept to bed, weep- 
ing out her fears in Wanamee’s arms. 

They were all astir the next morning at daybreak. 
It was a little cloudy. The three days had been un- 
usually fine. Savignon had been tracing this and that 
clew, and presently came upon a piece of wampum, 
with a curious Huron design at one end. And a little 
further on he found a trail where things had been 
roughly dragged. But he came to breakfast with no 
explanation. 

Did the Rose of Quebec care so much for this man ? 
He had been like a father to her, perhaps it was only 
a child’s love. But now M. Destournier was free to 
choose a new wife — if he were alive. He was a brave 
man, a fine man, but if he were dead! The Hurons 
would show scant pity to a disabled man. Savignon 
had done and would do his best, but somehow he could 
not feel so bitterly grieved. He loved this woman — he 
knew that now. 

They were discussing plans when a near-by step 
startled them. Parting the undergrowth, a torn and 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 


275 

dishevelled man appeared. It was Paul De Loie. He 
almost dropped on the ground at their feet. 

‘‘I have run all night,” he cried gaspingly. ^‘The 
Hurons ! They took us prisoners, and the stores. 
They are expecting another relay of the tribe, and are 
going up north for the winter, to join the Ottawas. 
But first they are to have a carouse and dance,” and 
the three prisoners are to be tortured and put to 
death. He had escaped. He supposed the party would 
be back for M. Destournier and the stores. They 
must fly at once, and return if they would save their 
lives. And what madness possessed them to bring 
women ! 

“Wait!” commanded Savignon. “Let us go apart, 
De Loie, and consider the matter,” and taking the 
man by the arm, he raised him and walked him a little 
distance. 

“Now tell me — M. Destournier — how did he pro- 
gress ?” 

“Well, indeed. We made him a crutch. We decided 
to take what stores we could manage, and resume our 
journey, thinking we would be met by some of the 
party. Ma foi, if we had started a day earlier I There 
were not many of them, but twice too many for us. 
There was nothing to do, we could gain nothing by 
selling our lives, we thought, but now they will take 
them. In two days the rest of the party, thirty or 
forty, will join them. We cannot rescue the others. 
Vauban could have escaped, but he would not leave 


276 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

M. Destournier. And now retrace your steps at 
once.” 

Savignon buried his face in his hands, in deep 
thought. Should he try to rescue these men? The 
Hurons were superstitious. More than once he had 
played on Indian credulity. He held some curious 
secrets, he had the wampum belt that he could pro- 
duce, as if by magic. He was fond, too, of adventure, 
of power. And he imagined he saw a way to win 
the prize he coveted. He was madly, wildly in love 
with Rose. She was heroic. If she would grant his 
desire, the safety of three people would accrue from it. 
And surely she had not loved the Frenchman, who until 
a brief while ago had a wife. As he understood, they 1 

had been as parents to her. She was young, but if ^ 
a man could inspire her with love — with gratitude . 

even ! 

He questioned De Loie very closely. The trouble ; 
with Destournier would be his inability to travel rap- j 
idly. They would soon be overtaken. Escape that j 
way was not feasible. | 

‘T will consider. Come and share our breakfast.” 
Rose was walking by herself, on the outskirts of the ^ 
clearing, her slim hands clasped together, her head ^ 
drooping, and even so her figure would have attracted 
a sculptor. The Indian was enchanted with it. To ^ 
clasp it in his arms — ah, the thought set his hot blood j 
in a flame. . j 

She turned and raised her eyes beseechingly, her J 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 


277 


beautiful, fathomless eyes in whose depths a man easily 
lost himself, the curved sweetness of the mouth that 
one might drain and drain, and never quite have his 
fill. 

^'What is it, M’sieu ? Is there any hope ? Can noth- 
ing be done?” Her voice went to his heart. 

‘What would you be willing to do, Mam’selle ?” 

“If I were a man I would attempt his rescue, or die 
with him. It would not be so hard to die holding a 
friend’s hand.” 

“You love him very much?” 

The love Savignon meant had so little place in her 
thoughts that the question did not cause her to change 
color. 

“He was so good to me when I was little, and ill for 
a long while. He used to hold me on his knee, and 
let my head rest on his strong breast. And when I 
was well again we climbed rocks, and he showed me 
where the choicest wild fruit grew. And we went 
out in the canoe. He taught me to read, he had books 
of strange, beautiful stories. And after he married 
miladi he took me in his home as if I was a child. Ah, 
I could not help loving one so kind, unless I had been 
made of stone. And I wanted to comfort him in his 
sorrow.” 

Her voice, in its pathos, the eyes luminous with tears 
that did not fall, swept through the man like a devour- 
ing flame. He must have her. He would risk all, he 
would test her very soul. 


278 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

“You have not said what you would give.” 

“My life, M’sieu, if I could exchange it for his.” 

“It does not need that. Listen, Mam’selle : When 
I first looked upon you, I was swept away with a 
strange emotion. I had seen lovely girls, there 
are some in our own race, with eyes of velvet, and 
lips that tempt kisses. And I knew when I helped 
you get your way on this expedition, what it was ; that 
I loved you, that I would have kissed the ground you 
had walked on. And on our journey here I have 
dreamed beautiful, thrilling dreams of you. I slept 
at the door of your improvised tent lest some danger 
should come upon you unawares. Last night when I 
noted your tired step I wanted to take you in my arms 
and carry you. You have filled my soul and my body 
with the rapture of love. I can think of nothing else 
but the bliss of straining you to my heart, of touching 
your lips with the fire that plays about mine, like the 
rosy lightning that flashes through the heavens, en- 
gendered by the heat of the day. Oh, take me for your 
husband, and your life shall be filled with the best I 
can give. You shall not weary your small hands with 
work, they shall be kept for a husband’s kisses. I will 
worship you as the priests do their Virgin.” 

She had been transfixed at the outburst and flam- 
ing, passionate tone, that in its vehemence seemed to 
grow finer, loftier. Was that love’s work? 

“But it will not save M. Destournier,” she wailed. 

“Listen again.” He stood up, manly and strong, and 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 


279 

somehow touched her with a subtle influence. It is 
not in a woman’s nature to listen to a tale of passionate 
love unmoved. ‘‘Once, among the Hurons an old 
witch woman was wild to adopt me for her son. She 
gave me a great many secret charms, many you white 
people would think the utmost foolishness. Some were 
curious. And my people are superstitious. I have 
used them more than once to the advantage of myself 
and others. I have brought about peace between war- 
ring tribes. I have prevented war. I will go to the 
Hurons, and try for M. Destournier’s liberty. From 
what De Loie said, they mean to sacrifice the men to- 
morrow. There are horrid, agonizing tortures before 
death comes. If you will promise to marry me I will 
go at once and do my utmost to rescue him, them.” 

“And if you fail?” Her very breath seemed like a 
blast of winter cold. 

“Then, Mam’selle, I can ask no reward, only a share 
in your sorrow. I will try to lighten their sufferings. 
That is all I can do.” 

She crossed her arms upon her breast and rocked 
herself to and fro. 

“Oh, I cannot, I cannot,” she said, with a cry of 
anguish. “Another man, our dear Madame de Cham- 
plain’s brother asked this thing of me, and I could not. 
I do not want to marry.” 

“All women do in their hearts,” he said moodily. 

Was she not quite a woman yet? Had she just the 
soul of the little girl who had climbed trees, scaled 


28 o a little girl IN OLD QUEBEC 

rocks, and plunged headlong into the river to swim 
like a fish ! 

“It is three lives,” he said, with the persuasive voice 
of the tempter. 

Three lives! And among them her best friend! 
Something rose in her throat, and she thought she was 
dying. 

“And if I cannot?” in a tone of desperate anguish. 

“Then we must start homeward at once. When the 
Hurons have whet their appetite with their hellish 
pleasure, it is not easily satisfied. They will look about 
for more fuel to add to the flames. So we must decide. 
I cannot risk my own liberty for months for nothing. 
It will not make M. Destournier’s death pang easier.” 

“Oh, go away, go away!” she almost shrieked, but 
the sorrow in her voice took off the harshness. “Let 
me think. I do not love you ! I might run away. I 
might drown myself. I might not be able to keep my 
promise.” 

“I should love you so much that you would not want 
to break it. Ah, I could trust you, since you love no 
one else that you desire to marry.” 

She dropped on the ground and hid her face, too 
much stunned even to cry. “Three lives” kept sing- 
ing in her ears. Was she not selfish and cruel? O 
God, what could she do! 

“You know even the Sieur and the priests have ap- 
proved of these mixed marriages, so there would be 
no voice raised against it. The children would belong 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 


281 


to the Church and be reared in the ways of wisdom 
and honor. In my way I am well born. I could take 
you to Paris, where you would be well received. I 
have had some excellent training. Oh, it would be no 
disgrace.” 

They were calling to him from the group. He 
turned away. His intense love for her, his little under- 
standing of a woman’s soul, his passionate nature, 
not yet adjusted to the higher civilization, could not 
understand and appreciate the cruelty. 

When he came back her small hands were nervously 
beating the dried turf. He could not see her face. 

“They have decided to go at once,” he exclaimed. 
“De Loie says there is no time to lose.” 

“I shall stay here and die,” she said. 

“That will not save any one’s life.” 

Oh, that was the pity of it! 

She rose with a strained white face. She looked 
like some of the beautiful carvings he had seen abroad. 
Not even anguish could make her unlovely. 

“If you will go,” she began hoarsely, and she 
seemed to strain her very soul to utter the words, “and 
bring back M. Destournier, and the others, I will 
marry you — not now, but months hence, when I can 
resolve upon the step. I shall have to learn — no, you 
must not touch me, nor kiss me, until I give you leave.” 

“But you must let me take your hand once, and 
promise by the Holy Mother of God.” 

His seriousness overawed her. She rose and held 


28a 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


out her slim, white hand, from which the summer’s 
brown had faded. Her lips shook as if with an ague, 
but she promised. 

He wanted to kiss the hand, but he in turn was over- 
awed. 

She heard the voices raised in dissent around the fire. 
What if they would not let him go ? She was chill and 
cold, and almost did not care. She would stay here 
and die. Perhaps they could take the strange, awe- 
some journey together. 

Wanamee joined her. “Savignon has determined to 
go to the rescue of the men,” she began, “but De Loie 
thinks it a crazy step. And we must stay and risk 
being made prisoners. What is the matter, ma iille? 
You are as white as the river foam in a storm.” 

“I am tired,” she made answer. “I slept poorly 
last night. Then they think there is no chance of 
success ?” 

“Oh, no, no! And we ought to escape.” 

She dropped down again, pillowing her head on a 
little rise of ground. Should she be glad, or sorry? 
Either way she seemed stunned. 

The sky cleared up presently, and the sun came out. 
The few men walked about disconsolately. The rations 
were apportioned, some went farther in the woods, to 
find nuts, if possible. Now that the stores had been 
taken and two days added to the journey, want might 
be their portion. 

Two of the men succeeded in finding some game. 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 283 

There was a small stream of water, but no fish were 
discernible in it. It froze over at night, but they 
could quench their thirst, and with some dried penny- 
royal made a draught of tea. 

Rose wondered if she had ever prayed before ! All 
she could say now was: “Oh, Holy Mother of God, 
have pity on me.’' 

The long night passed. De Loie said in the morn- 
ing: “I think one of you had better start with the 
women. If we should be beset with the savages, they 
might find their way home. Here are some points 
I have marked out.” 

“No,” returned Rose, “let us all perish together,” 

“Mow Dieti! Do you suppose they would let you 
perish? You would have to be squaw to some 
brave.” 

Rose shuddered. No, she could but die. 

De Loie started out on the path he had come. It 
was mid-afternoon. A light snow began to fall, and 
the wind moaned in the trees. Rose and Wanamee 
huddled together at the fire, their arms around each 
other, under the blanket. It was easy to love Wana- 
mee. But then she had begun it as a child — Was it 
easy to love when one was grown? 

The darkness was descending when they heard a 
shout. Was it friend or foe? Another, and it came 
nearer. It was not the voice of an Indian. 

De Loie rushed in upon them. “You men go and 
relieve those at the litter. Savignon is a wizard. He 


284 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 

has the three men. I could not believe it at first, and 
I am afraid now it is a trick. You cannot trust an 
Indian." 

Rose drew a long breath. Then her fate was sealed. 
Or, if they were attacked in the night, it would be some 
compensation to die together. 

They came in at last, with Destournier on an impro- 
vised hemlock litter. The fire blazed up brightly, mak- 
ing a striking picture of the eager faces. The men 
lowered the litter to the ground, and they crowded 
around it. Destournier was ghostly pale, but full of 
thankfulness. When there was a little space open he 
reached out his hand to Rose. 

'‘You two women have been very brave, but you 
should not have taken the journey. As for Savignon, 
we all owe him a debt that we can never repay.” 

“It is repaid already,” returned the Indian, glanc- 
ing over at Rose. “To have rescued you ” 

“What arts and incantations you used! I could 
not have believed it possible to move their stony 
hearts.” 

“It was not their hearts.” Savignon gave a grim 
smile. “It was their fears that were worked upon. I 
was afraid at one time that I would not succeed. But 
I had a reward before me.” 

“Quebec will pay you all honor. It is a grand thing 
to have saved three lives from torture and death. 
For there was no other escape.” 

That night Destournier related the surprise and cap- 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 285 

ture. The stores were a great loss. But they would 
not let him bemoan them. 

“We must get back as rapidly as we can,” he said. 
“I do not trust the temper of the reinforcements, when 
they find they have been balked of their prey.” 

The snow had only been a light fall, and the trees in 
their higher branches were marvels of beauty. It had 
not reached the ground in many places. 

After a frugal breakfast the cavalcade started. Des- 
tournier insisted upon walking at first, as he was 
freshened by his night’s rest, comparatively free from 
anxiety. His broken leg was well bandaged, and he 
used two crutches. Rose noticed the thinness and 
pallor, and the general languid air, but she kept herself 
quite in the background. Savignon was really leader 
of the small party. 

“Wanamee,” she said, in a low tone, “will you tell 
M. Ralph about miladi ? — I thought to do it, but I can- 
not. And I am so sorry she left no message for him. 
He was always so good to her. And you can tell him 
I held her a long while in my arms that night.” 

“You were an angel to her, ma fille, I used to won- 
der sometimes ” 

“I suppose it was being ill so long, and trying so 
hard to get well, that made her unreasonable. It is 
better to go out of life suddenly, do you not think so ?” 

“I should like to know a little about the hereafter. 
You see our nation believe we go at once to another 
land, and do not stay in that miserable place they tell 


286 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


of. But many of the braves believe there are no 
women in the happy hunting grounds. One is swung 
this way and that,” and Wanamee sighed. 

Rose’s mind was torn and distracted by her promise. 
Now and then an awful shudder took her in a giant 
grasp, and she thought she would drop down and ask 
them to leave her. Savignon would stay behind, if 
she proposed that. What if he had not gone to the 
Hurons? Frightful stories of torture she had heard 
rushed to her mind. Old Noko had witnessed them. 
So had some of the men at the fort. Death itself was 
not so hard, but to have burning sticks thrust into 
one’s skin, to have fingers and toes cut off, piecemeal — 
oh, she had saved him from that. Yes, she would 
marry Savignon, and then throw herself into the river, 
after she had kept her promise. 

The weather was growing colder. They halted for 
the night, and made a fire. They had shot nothing, 
but the supper was very light, indeed. 

“Little Rose,” said Destournier, “come over beside 
me, since I cannot well come to you. I have hardly 
seen you, and have not asked what has gone on at the 
fort. I feel as if I had been away half a lifetime. 
And miladi ” 

“Wanamee will tell you, I cannot.” She drew away 
the hand he held, and gently pushed the Indian woman 
forward, going out of the clear* sound of her voice. 
Oh, would it be a great sorrow to him ? 

Wanamee’s recital of that last night set a halo about 


A LOVER OF THE WILDERNESS 287 

Rose in the man’s mind. He had known for years that 
he had not loved miladi as a man could love, but he 
also questioned whether such a light, frivolous nature 
could have appreciated the strong, earnest affection. 
Her great effort to keep herself young had led to a 
meretricious childishness. She had a vain, narrow 
soul, and this had dwarfed it still more. Many a 
night he had watched over her, pained by her passion- 
ate beseeching that he would not let her die, her awe- 
some terror of death. He felt God had been merciful 
not to allow her to suffer that last rending pain. He 
had really become so accustomed to the thought of her 
dying that it did not seem new or strange to him, but 
one of the inevitable things that one must endure with 
philosophy. He realized the sweetness and patience 
of Rose through these last months. 

When Wanamee came back she was snugly tucked 
in her blanket, and feigned sleep. She did not want 
to talk. She fancied she would like to lie beside miladi 
in the little burying ground. Young sorrow always 
turns to death as a comforter. 

That night an adventure befell them, though most 
of them were sleeping from exhaustion. It was the 
Indian’s quick hearing that caught a suspicious sound, 
and then heard a stealthy rustle. He reached for his 
gun, and his eyes roved sharply around the little cir- 
cle. The sound came from nearly opposite. The fire 
was low, but his sight was keen, and • presently he 
espied two glaring eyes drawing nearer Wanamee and 


288 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


her charge. There was a quick shot, a shriek, almost 
human, and a rush farther in the forest. 

They were all awake in an instant. “An attack !“ 
shouted two of the men. 

“A wolf,” rejoined Savignon. He took up a brand ' 
and peered about in the darkness. The body was still 
twitching, but the head was a mangled mass. There 
were no others in sight, but they heard their cry grow- 
ing fainter and fainter. 

Rose sat up in affright. How near it had been to 
her. Was she always to be in debt to this Indian? 

“Go to sleep again,” he said, in a low tone. “We 
shall have no more alarms to-night. I am keeping 
watch. I would give my life to save you from harm.” 

Wanamee drew the trembling, shrinking figure 
closer. Rose felt as if her heart would burst with the 
sorrow she could not confess. 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 

They ate their last crumbs for breakfast. A fine, 
cutting sleet was in the air, but they kept quite inside 
of the forest, except when they were afraid of losing 
the trail. There was no stop for a midday meal, and 
they pushed on, carrying Destournier in a litter. Must 
they spend another night in the woods? 

Suddenly a shout reaches them, the sound of famil- 
iar French voices, and every heart thrilled with joy, as 
they answered it. Blessed relief was at hand. 

Being alarmed at the long delay, a party had been 
sent out to search for them. They halted, for indeed 
it seemed as if they could go no further. Weak and 
hungry, some of the men sat down and cried, for very 
joy. 

'T have hardly been worth all the trouble,'' Des- 
tournier said, in a broken voice. 

*Tt was not altogether you," replied one of the men. 
“And to have rescued some of our men from those 
fiendish Hurons was worth while. Savignon must 
have had some wonderful power to make them give 
up their prey." 


289 


290 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


The relief party were provided with food, dried meat 
that had come down from some friendly Indians. 
After they had eaten, they resolved to push on, and 
started with good courage. The storm had ceased and 
the stars were pricking through the blue. The moon 
would rise later on. But it was midnight when they 
came in sight of the fort. The warm welcome made 
amends for all. 

Wanamee took Rose under her protection. She was 
nearly exhausted. M. de Champlain insisted upon 
caring for Destournier, and examining the leg, which 
was much swollen, but had been very well set. The 
story of the wonderful escape was told over, to inter- 
ested listeners. 

'‘We owe Savignon a great debt, and are too poor 
to pay it,” said the Governor sorrowfully. 

Poor indeed they were. It was the hardest winter the 
colony had known. The dearth of news was most try- 
ing, and the fear of the English descent upon them 
racked the brave heart of the Commandant, who saw 
his dream of a great city vanishing. Jealousy had done 
some cruel work, and the misgovernment of the mother 
country stifled the best efforts. 

Rose lay listless in bed for many days. How 
could she meet Savignon, who haunted the place 
hourly, to inquire, and begged to see her? One day 
she told Wanamee to send him in, and braced herself 
for the interview. 

Semi-famine had not told on him, unless it had 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


291 


added an air of refinement. That he was superior to 
most of his race, was evident. 

He was not prepared for the white wraith-like being 
who did not rise from her chair, but nodded and mo- 
tioned him to a seat at a distance. 

‘'Oh, Mam’selle, you have been truly ill,” he said, 
and there was a tender sort of pity in his tone. 
‘T have been wild to see you, to hear you speak. 
Mam’selle, you must not die. I cannot give you up. I 
have been starved, I have been half-crazy with impa- 
tience. Oh, can you not have a little pity on me, when 
I love you so ? And you have no one who has a right to 
protest. You will keep your promise? For I swear 
to you that I will kill any man who marries you. I 
cannot help if it brings grief upon you. It would 
be the sorrow of my life not to have you! Oh, 
let me touch your little white hand” — and he started 
from his seat with an eager gesture. 

She put both behind her. ‘T do not love you,” she 
began bravely. “It would take time ” 

“I said I would wait. Rose of Quebec, wait months, 
for your sweetness to blossom for me. But I cannot 
see you go to another.” 

“There is no other. There will be no other.” She 
was sure she told the whole truth. “But if you insist 
now, I shall die before a marriage comes. I could 
slip out of life easily. Perhaps when I am strong 
again, courage may come back to me. You must go 
away and let me be quite by myself, and think how 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


292 

brave you were, how patient you are. Then when you 
come again ” 

She would be in her white winding sheet, then, and 
he would be afraid to kiss her. 

“But I won you fairly, Mam’selle. And I had great 
trembling of heart, for the Huron chief was obdurate. 
I succeeded at length. He has had a wife, he does not 
need another. He might be your father. And you 
have repaid him for all care by giving him back his life, 
by saving him from torture you know little about. 
For if the party joining them had discovered the rob- 
bery of their storehouse, there would have been little 
mercy. Oh, Mam’selle, how can so sweet a being be so 
cold and unyielding?” 

“I have told you the secret of it. I do not love you. 
I do not want you for a husband. But I will keep my 
promise. Give me time to get well. It may not look 
so terrible to me then.” 

How lovely she was in her pleading, even if it did 
deny. He could have snatched her to his heart and 
stifled her with kisses, yet he did not dare to touch so 
much as her little finger. What strange power held 
her aloof? But if she was once his wife 

“A month,” he pleaded. 

“Longer than that. Three months. Three whole 
moons. Then you may come again and I will answer 
you.” 

His face paled with anger, his eyes were points of 
flame, his blood was hot within him. 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


293 


'‘I will not wait.” 

“Then you may have my dead body.” 

“But you break your promise.” 

“I ask you to wait,” she said, in a steady tone. 
“That is all.” 

“And you will not seek to die, Mam’selle ?” ' 

“I will be your wife then. Now go. I am too tired 
to argue any more.” 

A sudden ray of hope kindled in the Indian’s heart. 
He would see M. Destournier, and lay the case before 
him, and beg his assistance. Surely he could not re- 
fuse, when his life had been saved ! 

Rose leaned back in a half-faint. Oh, surely God 
would take her before that time. But she had prom- 
ised in good faith. Matters might look different to 
her when she was strong once more. 

Savignon meant to be armed at all points. He went 
up to the St. Charles and laid his case before one of the 
fathers. His fine bearing and intelligence won him 
much favor. 

“Men often married Indian women, who made good 
wives. In this case if the woman desired to take him 
for her husband, there could be no real objection; it 
was between the two parties. No over-persuasion was 
to be used. And if her friends or parents consented, it 
would be right enough. Only they must truly love 
each other.” 

He knew now she did not truly love him. You might 
beat an Indian woman into obedience — he had never 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


294 

struck one since he had come to manhood. But this 
beautiful being, who was like a bit of flame, would be 
blown out by harshness or force, and one would have 
only the cold body left. If he could not make her 
love him at the end of the three months 

Then he sought Destournier, and laid the tale before 
him. He had won Mademoiselle honorably. She had 
given her promise. At the end of the three months he 
would come for her. Now he had resolved to go to 
the islands, since it would be wretched to stay here 
and not see Mam’selle. 

“Yes, the best thing,” Destournier said, but he was 
stunned by the bargain. Was his life to cost that sac- 
rifice ? There must be some way of preventing it. 

As the days went on he considered various plans. 
This was why Rose was so languid and unlike herself. 
Perhaps the hard winter and poor food had something 
to do with it. She had bought his life at too great a 
sacrifice. And then came the sweet, sad knowledge 
that he loved her, also. 

The spring was quite early. Men began to work 
in their gardens and mend the damages of the winter, 
but with a certain fear of what was to come. And 
one day Destournier found Rose sitting in the old gal- 
lery, where she had run about as a child. But she 
was a child no longer. The indescribable change had 
come. There were womanly lines in her figure, al- 
though it was thinner than of yore, and the light in her 
eyes deeper. 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


29s 


He had given up the house to her and the two. In- 
dian women, with Pani for attendant. M. Pontgrave 
had been a great invalid through the winter, and be- 
sought the younger man’s company. The Sieur often 
came in and they talked over the glowing plans and 
dreams of the earlier days, when they were to rear a 
city that the mother country could be proud of. 

He understood why Rose had shunned him, and 
whenever he resolved to take up this troublous subject 
his courage failed him. Saved from this marriage 
she surely must be. In a short time Savignon would 
return. He had known of two women who had cast in 
their lots with the better-class Indians at Tadoussac, 
and were happy enough. But they were not Rose. 

He came slowly over to her now. She looked up and 
smiled. Much keeping indoors of late had made her 
skin fair and fine, but her soft hair had not shed all 
its gold. 

“Rose,” he began, then paused. 

She flushed, but made a little gesture, as if he might 
be seated beside her. 

“Rose,” he said again, “in the winter you saved my 
life. I have known it for some time.” 

Her breath came with a gasp. How had he learned 
this, unless Savignon had come before the time ? 

“And you paid a great price for it.” 

“Oh, oh !” she clasped her hands in distress. “How 
did you know it?” 

“Savignon told me before he went away. He asked 


296 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


my consent to your marriage. I could not give it then. 
He will soon return. I cannot give it now.” 

“But it was a promise. Monsieur, your life was of 
more account than mine.” 

“Do you think I will accept the sacrifice? I have 
been weak and cowardly not to settle this matter be- 
fore, not to give you the assurance that I will make 
a brave fight for your release.” 

“I was very sad and frightened at first, partly ill, 
as well, and I hoped not to live. But the good God 
did not take me. And if He meant me to do this thing, 
keep my word, I must do it. I asked Father Jamay 
one time about promises, and he said when one had 
vowed a vow it must be kept. And I have prayed for 
courage when the time comes. See, I am quite tran- 
quil.” 

She raised her face and he read in it a nobly spiritual 
expression. He recalled now that she had gone up to 
the convent quite often with Wanamee, and that more 
than once she had slipped into Madame de Champlain’s 
prie-dieu, that her husband never would have dis- 
turbed. Was she finding fortitude and comfort in a de- 
votion to religion that would strengthen her to meet 
this tremendous sacrifice? She looked like a saint 
already. 

She could not tell him that he knew only half, that 
he might still be the object of Savignon’s vengeance, if 
she failed to keep her word. 

“Perhaps the Sieur will have something to say, if 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


297 


my wishes fail. Unless you tell me you love this 
Indian, and that seems monstrous to me, this marriage 
shall never take place.’^ 

“It must, it must,’’ she said, though her face was 
like marble, where it had been human before. “M’sieu, 
what is right must be done. I promised, and you 
were saved.” 

“Of your own free will? Rose,” he caught both 
hands in a pressure that seemed to draw her soul 
along with it, “answer me truly.” 

“Of my will, yes. Monsieur.” Her white throat 
swelled with the anguish she repressed. 

“You have left out the ‘free,’ ” but he knew well 
why she could not utter it. 

“Monsieur, I think you would be noble enough to 
give your life for a friend” — she was about to say 
“whom you loved,” but she caught her voice in 
time. 

Was this heroic maiden the little girl who had run 
wild in the old town, and sung songs with the birds ; 
who had been merry and careless, but always a sweet 
human Rose ; the child he had taken to his heart long 
ago, the girl he had watched over, the woman — yes, 
the woman he loved with a man’s first fervent pas- 
sion ! She should not go out of his life, now that God 
had made a space for her to come in it. Miladi he 
had given up to Laurent Giffard, she had never be- 
longed to him in the deep sacredness of love. And as 
he watched her, his eyes seeming to look into her soul, 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


298 

through the motes of light that illumined them, he 
knew it was not simply that she had no love for the 
Indian, but that she loved him. It seemed the sublime 
moment of his life, the sweetest consciousness that he 
had ever known. 

‘‘You gave something greater than life. Listen,” 
and he drew his brows into a resolute line. “When 
that man comes we will have it out between us. For I 
love you, too. I owe you a great reward that only a 
life's devotion can pay. I am much older, but I seem 
to have just awakened to the dream of bliss that sancti- 
fies manhood. My darling, if a better man came, I 
could give you up, if I went hungering all the rest of 
my days. But you shall not go to certain wretched- 
ness. And he must see the truth. That is the way a 
man should love.” 

Her slender, white throat rose and fell like a heart- 
beat. With Savignon she would be loved with a fierce 
passion, for the man’s supreme joy; this man would 
love for the woman’s joy. 

“Monsieur, I have studied the subject, and I think it 
is right. I pray you, do not disturb my resolve. It 
has been made after many prayers. If the good Father 
should change His mind — but that is hardly to be 
thought of. Do not let us talk about it,” and she rose. 

For instead of throwing herself in the river, as 
she had thought in her wildness, she could cross to 
France, and enter a convent, if she could not en- 
dure it. 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


299 

Ralph Destournier saw that argument was useless. 
When the time came, he would act. 

But May passed without bringing the lover. Quebec 
was beginning to take courage, and what with hunting 
and fishing, semi-starvation was at an end. Emigrants 
came back and all was stir and activity in the little 
town. 

There came a letter to Rose, after a long delay. Sa- 
vignon had joined a party of explorers, who were 
pushing westward, and marvelled at the wonderful 
country. He had pondered much over his desires, and 
while his love was still strong, he did not want an 
unwilling bride. He would give her a longer time to 
consider — a year, perhaps. He had wrung a reluctant 
assent from her, he admitted, and taken an ungener- 
ous advantage. For this he would do a year’s penance, 
without sight of the face that had so charmed him. 

Was he really brave enough to do that? Rose 
thought so. Destournier believed it some new attrac- 
tion to the roving blood of the wilderness. 

But Rose would not wholly accept her freedom. 
Still she was more like the Rose of girlhood, though 
she no longer climbed or ran races. The Sieur was 
whiling away the heavy hours of uncertainty by teach- 
ing several Indian girls, and Rose found this quite a 
pleasure. 

The servant came in with some news. Not the 
French vessel they hoped for, but an English man-of- 
war, with two gunboats, was approaching. 


300 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


If defence had been futile before, it was doubly so 
now. The fort was out of repair, the guns useless 
from lack of ammunition, there was no provision to 
sustain a siege. A small boat with a flag of truce 
rounded the point, and with a heavy heart Champlain 
displayed his on the fort. 

The two brothers of Captain David Kirke, who was 
now at Tadoussac, had again been sent to propose 
terms of surrender. The English were to take pos- 
session in the name of their king. 

It was a sad party that assembled around the large 
table, where so many plans and hopes had stirred the 
brave hearts of the explorers and builders-up of new 
France. Old men they were now, Pontgrave a wreck 
from rheumatism, a few dead, and Champlain, with 
the ruin of his ambitions before him. There was some 
vigorous opposition to the demands, but there was 
clearly no alternative but surrender. Hard as the 
terms were, they must be accepted. And on July 20, 
1629, the lilies of France ceased to wave over Quebec, 
dear old Quebec, and Captain Louis Kirke took pos- 
session of the fort and the town, in the name of 
His Majesty, King Charles I, and the standard 
of England floated quite as proudly over the St. 
Lawrence. 

Did they dream then that this scene would be 
enacted over again when a new Quebec, proud of her 
improvements and defences, that were considered im- 
pregnable, should fight and lose one of the greatest 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


301 


of battles, and two of the bravest of men, and again 
lower the lilies ! ,A greater romance than that of old 
Quebec, the dream of the Sieur de Champlain. 

But it seemed a sad travesty that the mother country 
should send succor too late. A French vessel, with 
emigrants and supplies, came in sight only to fall into 
the hands of the victorious English. 

Captain Emery de Caen insisted that peace had been 
declared two months before, but the Kirkes would not 
admit this. It was said that all conquests after that 
date were to be restored. A new hope animated the 
heart of the brave old Commandant. If it were true, 
the lilies might replace the flaunting standard. 

Many of the citizens preferred to remain. They had 
their little homes and gardens, and the English proved 
not overbearing. Then there was an end to present 
want. A hundred and fifty men gave the town a new 
impetus, and when the next fleet came, with the large 
war-ships, there was a certain aspect of gayety, quite 
new to the place. 

After some discussion, Champlain resolved to re- 
turn to France, and thence to England, to understand 
the terms of peace, and if possible, to win New France 
once more. 

Ralph Destournier was a Frenchman at heart, 
though a little English blood ran in his veins. He had 
a strong desire to see France. 

“Will you go?” he asked of Rose. 

“Not until the year is ended,” she said gravely. 


302 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


“But if you will go — Wanamee and Pani can care for 
me. I am a little girl no longer.” 

It was true. There was no more little girl, but there 
was no more old Quebec. It had already taken on a 
different aspect. Officers and men in bright uniforms 
climbed the narrow, crooked streets, with gay jests, 
in what seemed their rough language ; there were little 
taverns opened, where the fife and drum played an un- 
melodious part. Religion was free, for there had 
come to be a number of Huguenots, as well as of the 
new English church. The poor priests were at their 
wits’ end, but they were well treated. 

Eustache Boulle was to go with the Sieur, but he 
never returned. He took a rather fond farewell of 
Rose. “If you would go, we might find something of 
your family,” he said. “I once had a slight clew.” 

“Is it not worth looking after?” asked Destournier, 
as he and Rose were walking the plateau, since known 
as the Plains of Abraham. “If you were proved of 
some notable family — there have been so many over- 
turns.” 

“Would you feel prouder of me?” 

“No, Do you not know that you are dearer to me 
as the foundling of Quebec, and the little girl I knew 
and loved ?” 

She raised luminous eyes and smiled. 

“Then I do not care. No place will seem like 
home but this.” 

He would not go to France, but busied himself with 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


303 

his fields and his tenants. He came back to the old 
house, altered a little, the room where miladi had spent 
her fretful invalid years was quite remodelled. Vines 
grew up about it. The narrow steps were widened. 

Autumn came, and winter. The cold and somewhat 
careless living carried off many of the English. But 
Madame Hebert had married again, and Therese had 
found a husband. There was Nicolas Revert, with 
some growing children. Duchesne, a surgeon, they had 
been glad to welcome. Thomas Godefroy, Pierre 
Raye, and the Couillards formed quite a French 
colony. They met now and then, and kept the old 
spirit alive with their songs and stories. 

June had come again, and the town had begun to 
bloom. There were still parties searching for the 
north sea, for the route to India, for the great river 
that was said to lie beyond the lakes. The priests, too, 
were stretching out their lines, especially the Jesuits, 
about whom still lingers the flavor of heroic martyr- 
dom. Father Breibouf coming back for a short stay, 
to get some new word from France, told the fate of 
one unfortunate party. Among them he said “was 
that fine Indian interpreter, Savignon, who you must 
remember went to the rescue of a party the last time 
he was in Quebec. He was a brave man, and a great 
loss to us. He had come to an excellent state of mind, 
and was one of the few Indians that give me faith in 
the salvation of the race.” 

Rose’s eyes were lustrous with tears as she listened 


304 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


to this eulogy. He had proved nobler than his first 
passion of love. She had some Masses said for his 
soul, but it pleased her better to give thanks to God 
for his redemption. 

“Now you belong to no one but me,’^ Destournier 
said to her some weeks later, when she had recovered 
from her sorrow. “Yet I feel that it is selfish to take 
your sweet youth. I am no longer young. I shall 
always be a little lame, and never perhaps realize my 
dream of prosperity. But I love you. I loved you as 
a little girl, you have always, in some fashion, be- 
longed to me.’' 

“I am glad to belong to you, to take your name. Do 
you remember that I have no other name but Rose? 
You are very good to shelter me thus. I think I could 
never have gone gladly to any one else. We are a 
part of old Quebec, we are still French,” and there 
was a little triumph in her tone. 

It was true the English had taken possession after 
peace had been declared, and had not the right to hold 
the country. When France demanded the recession 
King Charles held off, and the Kirkes were unwilling 
to yield up the government, as they found great profit 
in the fur trade. But needing money sorely, and as 
the Queen’s dowry as a French princess had only been 
half paid, he made this a condition, and Richelieu 
accepted it. 

So in 1632 Acadia, and all the important points in 
Canada, were ceded back to France. 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


305 


In the spring of the next year Champlain was again 
commissioned Governor, and he set sail from Dieppe, 
with three vessels freighted with goods, provisions, 
and the farming implements of that day, clothing and 
some of the new hand-looms, beside seeds of all kinds. 
Two hundred persons, many of them married couples, 
and farmers were to found a new Quebec. 

One May morning, just at sunrise, there was a 
great firing of bombards, and for a brief while all was 
consternation and fear. But persons sent out to ex- 
plore, brought the welcome news of Champlain’s re- 
turn. Then went up a mighty shout of joy, and the 
lilies of France were once more unfurled to the breeze. 
There stood the stalwart old commander, whose life 
work was crowned with success. All was gratulation. 
He must have been touched by the ovation. 

M. and Madame Destournier were among the 
throng, while Wanamee carried the little son, who 
stared about with wondering eyes, and smiled as if 
he enjoyed the glad confusion. 

Even the' Indians vied with the French, as he was 
triumphantly escorted up the cliff, with colors flying 
and drums beating, and once more received the keys 
of the fort. The spontaneous welcome showed how 
deep he was in the affections of the people. He had 
been thwarted in ma,ny of his plans, neglected, tra- 
duced, but this hour made amends. 

'‘Little Rose,” he said, “thou art a part of old Que- 
bec, but thy son begins with the new regime. Heaven 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


306 

bless and prosper thee and thy husband. I should 
have missed thee sorely had any untoward event hap- 
pened.” 

The settlement at the foot of the cliff had been 
burned, but the upper town, as it came to be called, 
had stretched out. The Heberts were on the sum- 
mit of the cliff, that part of the town where the an- 
cient bishops’ palace stood for so long. Many of the 
former settlers had come up here. 

“I had hoped Madame de Champlain would return 
with him,” Rose said. ‘T wonder if any time will ever 
come when I shall love myself better than you.” 

He bent over and kissed her. He had never quite 
understood love or known what happiness was until 
now. 

When the Indians learned of the return of their be- 
loved white chief, they planned to come in a body, and 
salute him. Algonquins, Ottawas, Montagnais, and 
the more friendly Hurons, came with their gifts, and 
smoked the pipe of peace. 

In the autumn Champlain commenced the first 
parochial church, called, appropriately, Notre Dame 
de Recouvrance. The Angelus was rung three times 
a day. For now the brave old soldier had grown more 
religious, there were no more exploring journeys, no 
more voyages across the stormy ocean. He had said 
good-bye to his wife for the last time, though now, 
perhaps, he understood her mystical devotion better. 

It was indeed a new Quebec. There was no more 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


307 


starvation, no more digging of roots, and searches 
for edible food products. Their anxious faces gave 
way to French gayety. Up and down the steep road- 
way, leading from the warehouses to the rough, tum- 
ble-down tenements by the river, men passed and re- 
passed with jests and jollity, snatches of song or a 
merry good-day, for it was indeed good. There were 
children of mixed parentage, playing about, for In- 
dian mothers were no uncommon thing. The fort, the 
church, and the dwellings high up above, gave it a 
picturesque aspect. You heard the boatmen singing 
their songs of old France as they went up and down the 
beautiful river. Stone houses began to appear, though 
wigwams still remained. New streets were opened, 
but they were loth to level the hills, and some of them 
remain to this day. 

Ralph and Rose Destournier had a happy life. 
Children grew up around them. A large, new house 
received them presently, but they kept a fond remem- 
brance for the old one that seemed somehow to belong 
exclusively to Miladi and a dreamy sort of old life. 

A mixed population it was, shaped by the sincerity 
of their religion. There were priests in their gray and 
black cassocks, officers in brave trappings, traders, 
Indians, farmers, stout and strong, and the picturesque 
coureurs de hois, that came to be a great feature, and 
added not a little to the romance of the place. They 
were not all mere adventurers, but they loved a roving 
life. Settlements were made here and there, an impor- 


3o8 a little girl IN OLD QUEBEC 

tant one at Three Rivers, where the Recollets estab- 
lished a mission. The summers were given over to 
work and business, thronged with traders and trap- 
pers, but they found time in the winters for much so- 
cial life. 

If the Sieur missed his old friend Hebert, there 
were others to take an active interest in horticulture. 
Pontgrave was no more, but his grandson kept up 
the name. A few years later the earnest young Rene 
de Robault gave his fortune for the building of a col- 
lege, and this kept the young men from returning to 
old France for an education. Convent schools were 
established, and Indian girls were trained in the ameni- 
ties and industries of social life. Montreal spread 
out her borders as well, the Beauport road came to be 
a place of fine estates. All the way to the mouth of 
the great river there were trading stations. The fur 
company’s business was good, there were new explora- 
tions to Lake Huron, Georgian Bay, Lake Michigan, 
up to the Fox river. 

Of the sons and daughters growing up in the Des- 
tournier household, Helene, who should have been a 
devotee, was a merry madcap, who exceeded her 
mother in daring feats, a dark-eyed, laughing maid 
the Indian girls adored. She could manage a canoe, 
she could fly, they said, she took such wonderful leaps. 
Rose could sing like a bird and had a fondness for all 
animals. Little Barbe was a dainty, loving being, 
always clinging to her mother, and three sons were 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 


309 


devoted to their father whose snowy white hair was 
like a crown of silver. They loved to hear the old 
tales, and fired with resentment when the lilies of 
France had to give way to the flag of England. 

"‘But they will never do it again,” Robert Destour- 
nier would exclaim, with flashing eyes. 

But they did almost a century later. Robert was 
not there to strike a useless blow for his beloved land. 
That belongs to the story of a newer Quebec, and now 
all the romances are gathered up into history. 

In the autumn of 1635 the brave, beloved Champlain 
passed away in the heart of the city that had been his 
love, his ambition, his life-dream. The explorer, the 
crusader, the sharer of toils and battles, his story is one 
of the knightly romances of that period, and his name 
is enshrined with that of old Quebec. Other heroes 
were to come, other battles to be fought, much work 
for priest and civilian, but this is the simplest, the 
bravest of them all, for its mighty work was done at 
great odds. 

To-day you find the Citadel, the old French fort, 
but the wharves and docks run out in the river, 
and there are steamboats, instead of canoes. There is 
the Market Place and the City Hall, the Grande Alice 
St. Louis Place and Gate, the crowded business-point, 
with its ferries, the great Louise basin and embank- 
ment. The city runs out to St. Charles river, and 
stretches on and on until you reach the Convent of 
the Sacred Heart. There are still the upper and the 


310 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD QUEBEC 


lower town, and the steep ways, the heights that Wolfe 
climbed, the world-famed Plains of Abraham. 

Everywhere is historic ground, monuments of cour- 
age, zeal, and religion. The streets have old names. 
Here on a height so steep you wonder how they are 
content to climb it, juts out a little stone eyrie, just as 
it stood a hundred years ago. Three or four genera- 
tions have lived within its walls, and they are as French 
to-day as they were then. They want nothing of the 
modern gauds of the present. Grandmothers used the 
clumsy furniture, and it is almost worth a king’s 
ransom, it has so many legends woven around it. 

There is the Chateau Frontenac, that recalls ro- 
mance and bravery. There are churches, with their 
stories. There are the old Jesuit barracks, out of 
which went many a heroic soul to face martyrdom, 
there is the Chien d’Or, with its stone dog gnawing 
a bone, and the romance of Nicolas Jaquin Philibert, 
the brave Huguenot. 

There are old graveyards, where rest the pioneers 
who prayed, and hoped, and starved with Champlain. 
All the stories can never be written, all the monu- 
ments that speak of glory do not tell of the suffer- 
ings. Yet there were happy lives, and happy loves, 
as well. The storms die out, the light and sun- 
shine dry up the tears, and courage is given to go 
on. 

The old French days have left their impress. 
Champlain will always be a living memory, as the 


THE PASSING OF OLD QUEBEC 31 1 

founder of one of the marvellous cities of the world. 
Gay little girls run about and climb the heights, they 
dance and sing, and have their festivals, and are 
happy in the thrice-renewed Quebec. Many a Rose 
has blossomed and faded since the days of Destournier. 
















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